it's lonely on jupter
by skyestiel
Summary: "It isn't often that someone comes along and surprises Iwaizumi. He's not easily caught off guard, not at all. Or at least that's what he likes to think. So, when Oikawa Tooru shows up, a living, breathing oxymoron strutting about on two solid legs, he must admit that he's a little impressed." OR: oikawa's always loved aliens but never thought he'd actually fall in love with one
1. first meeting

**Author's Note:** guess who's back? that's right, I'm finally back to writing. this time, I've decided to venture into the wonderful world of haikyuu and, more specifically, iwaoi. there are so many marvelous fics and writers in this fandom, and I'd been wanting to join in on the fun for a while

the rating will probably go up in later chapters, but I'm sticking with T for now. I hope that I do these amazing characters justice, and I plan on posting chapters once a week or once every two weeks. of course, college may interfere sometimes, and there's not much I can do about that. also, just a heads up, this first chapter switches between iwa's pov and oikawa's pov. that's normally how things will go in each chapter

anyway comments, favorites, and follows are always appreciated and keep me motivated. I'm cross-posting this from my ao3 because people there seem to be enjoying it. also, a big thanks to my two incredible betas for helping me out! please enjoy this first chapter and iwaizumi's failed attempt at eating in a college dining hall

* * *

It's seven o'clock in the morning, and a pillow smacks Oikawa Tooru squarely in the face.

This is isn't the first time, and, considering the unpredictable mood swings of his roommate, it probably won't be the last. Instead of retaliating like any sane person might, Oikawa merely shoots his disgruntled roommate the fieriest glare he can muster at this early hour.

"What is it now, Tobio-chan?" he grumbles. He doesn't enjoy Kageyama's spur of the moment tantrums, but he's grown used to them for the most part. Unfortunately for Kageyama, it's the first day of spring semester classes, and Oikawa is _not_ in the mood. Plus, thanks to the dorm's shitty excuse for a heating system, he woke up several times throughout the night, tossing and turning.

"When's your first class?" Kageyama asks. He runs his fingers through his tousled black hair, attempting to smooth it back down to its normal state, and yawns, face screwing up as he rubs his eyes.

"You're kidding me. Was throwing the pillow really necessary?" Oikawa tosses the offending object onto the floor, glaring at it.

Kageyama shrugs and, heaving one gigantic sigh, sits up. "It seemed like the best way to get your attention. I wanted to catch you before you started prancing in front of the mirror."

"I don't _prance_ , Tobio-chan," Oikawa insists, pushing back his blankets, "Not everyone cares so little about their appearance that they only spend five minutes getting ready in the morning. Some of us like to actually look presentable when we go to class."

As usual, Kageyama starts to tune out Oikawa's words, peering out the window behind Oikawa's head instead of meeting his furious roommate's gaze. Even like this, Kageyama possesses a certain charm that words cannot begin to explain. Of course, he's clearly too dense to notice how attractive he actually is. Probably because he rarely checks his reflection in the mirror. Although OIkawa would never admit it out loud, not in a million years, he has a pretty good feeling that Kageyama would attract just as many girls as he did if he put a little more effort into his morning routine.

Hoping to reclaim Kageyama's attention, Oikawa brings the conversation back to the topic at hand. "Anyway, my class is at 9:30. Calc two."

Kageyama's lip curls in disgust. "Ew."

Oikawa shrugs. He's used to that reaction. "I don't mind it. But that's beside the point. There's no way I'm going to be late on the first day."

"I'm sure you wouldn't be the only one," Kageyama sighs, cracking his neck. "A lot of people don't give a damn about how late they are."

"No, Tobio-chan, I think you're mistaken. There's a big difference between 'a lot of people' and 'you.'"

"Well…" Kageyama's face scrunches up. "Not everyone is a goody two shoes like you."

Oikawa considers retaliating, but it's Kageyama; his comebacks aren't worth it. He stands, stretching his arms high above his head. His shirt hikes up, boxers sitting low on his hips, and his bare abdomen is suddenly exposed to their frigid room.

The chill hits Oikawa like a freight train. He's struck by a full body shiver, the awful kind that starts at the nape of his neck, works its way through his chest, and ends at the tips of his toes. As much as he hates thick, bulky jackets, it's obviously freezing outside, and the weather doesn't give a damn about what Oikawa wants to wear.

"You're pissed because it's too cold outside to wear the clothes you picked out last night, aren't you?"

Now it's Kageyama's turn to take a pillow to the face.

* * *

To Oikawa's relief, the bus's heater functions a lot better than the one in their dorm. Oikawa sinks into the seat cushions, ignoring the scratchy, hideous material he scowled at countless times last semester. They're warm and comfortable and, well, in this kind of weather, that's all that matters.

The trip to his first class goes by fairly quickly. Other students peer down at their phones, earphones snuggly in place, layers upon layers shrouding their frames. The bus driver has settled on a rock station, and, although Oikawa's focused on the upbeat pop playlist he chose to lift his spirits, he vaguely registers something resembling classic rock filtering through the bus's speakers.

The short ten or fifteen minute ride gives him some time to sit back and think. Finding a nice, quiet place to do such a thing is remarkably challenging these days. He thinks about the few weeks he spent at home, visiting his high school, socializing with the volleyball club, reminiscing with old teammates. He thinks about his classes, about how they're likely to be more difficult than most of the courses he'd taken in the fall.

And, as the bus finally comes to a stop in front of its destination, Oikawa thinks back to the conversation he had with one of his teammates the day before break ended. Fixing Oikawa with a pitying stare, mouth set in a thin line, his old friend repeated a phrase that had haunted Oikawa from the moment he decided he'd attend college: "Are you sure you can handle it?"

 _Are you sure you can handle the curriculum? Are you sure that's what you want to do with your life? Are you sure you wouldn't rather do something else? Maybe sports medicine? Maybe business? Are you sure?_

 _Are you_ sure _?_

Oikawa wanted to scream, to tear all his hair out and run until his lungs burned. He wanted to storm into the gym and serve, spike a ball against the nearest wall, until his hand stung. He spent the last few months listening to the same questions, the same concerns, voiced by his friends and, worse yet, his own parents. He loved college, and, contrary to popular belief, he wasn't some mindless airhead who only cared about himself.

A group of students suddenly pushes past, jostling Oikawa around and dragging him back to reality. He shakes his head, quickly trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling that had settled over him. Calm, he needs to calm down. He glances at his phone to double-check the room number of his calculus class, struggling to focus on something else. Thankfully, it functions as the momentary distraction he wanted. His class is on the ground floor and not hard to find.

Oikawa pulls open the door and steps inside, pleased to see that the classroom is awfully small, clearly suited to no more than thirty students. Some have yet to remove their earphones and keep to themselves, broadcasting a silent _Leave me alone_ to anyone that comes near. Others are gathered together in tiny groups, talking animatedly.

Sadly, most of the seats at the front of the room are already taken. Oikawa grudgingly settles for one in the back instead. _Weird_ , he muses. He's always made it his mission to avoid sitting in the back. He feels off, this far away from the board. He sets down his backpack and slides into the black plastic chair, pulling out a notebook and pencil. Like many of the students in the surrounding area, he turns up his music and continues to drown out nearby conversations.

His gaze sweeps around the room, seeking out any familiar faces. A few seats over, he recognizes a tall girl with cascading chocolate brown curls and, off to her right, a boy sporting a haircut eerily similar to one of Oikawa's old teammates.

OIkawa's about to call out to him, curious as to whether he actually does know the guy, but someone slides into the seat next to him and completely eclipses the girl and his target.

 _The nerve of some people_. It's the first day of class, and he's trying to function on very little sleep. And that can only mean one thing: terrible decisions abound. His mouth opens of its own accord before he can think better of what he's about to say.

But the words die in his throat before they even have the opportunity to surface.

The first thing Oikawa notices is the stranger's jawline. Smooth and strong, it seems perfectly suited to the confused grimace taking shape on his lips. His gaze is off-putting, dark brown eyes that possess the kind of intensity Oikawa recalls seeing many times on the opposite side of the net during games, an unspoken challenge present in the furrow of his brows and intent stare.

"I'm sorry, something wrong?"

Oikawa draws back, caught off guard by the sudden question. Apparently he needs to work on his subtlety. "Oh! Well, no, I suppose not. I'm just… a little surprised you didn't ask if anyone else was sitting there."

"Are they?" He sounds disinterested, as if he could care less about taking someone else's seat.

"Um, no…"

"Good. Glad that's settled then," the stranger decides with a shrug. As if that's enough and the matter's now resolved, he turns his attention back to the textbook he's pulling out of his backpack, paying no mind to Oikawa's aghast expression.

Oikawa, of course, can't leave it at that. "Actually, wait. I didn't catch your name?"

His fingers, carefully poised on the zipper, stop and, slowly, he raises his head to meet Oikawa's inquisitive gaze. "Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi Hajime."

For some strange reason, Oikawa experiences an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The name sounds familiar and yet he knows he's never met this guy before. For a brief second, he considers asking Iwaizumi if he recognizes him but decides against it. The last thing he wants to do is creep out someone he's just met.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Iwaizumi-kun," Oikawa replies, flashing one of his most charming smiles. "My name is Oikawa Tooru."

Iwaizumi's smile seems a little forced, but Oikawa takes it as enough of an invitation to keep going. "So, what's your major?"

"Engineering," Iwaizumi offers. He's flipping through the thick pages of his textbook, absentmindedly fiddling with the pencil between his fingers.

"Me too! Which department?" Oikawa feels his body lean closer to Iwaizumi, suddenly possessing a mind of its own. "I'm majoring in aerospace."

Oddly enough, that comment appears to pique Iwaizumi's interest. "Mine's mechanical," he explains. He casually closes the book, eyes flitting down to the large integral symbol on the cover and then back to Oikawa's face. "I was almost tempted to major in that myself. Do you like it?"

It takes a moment for Oikawa to muster up a response. He's still trying to process the fact that Iwaizumi has actually provided him with a lengthier response _and_ question in the same breath. "Oh, I guess it's alright. I'm only a freshman so I haven't had to take some of the really challenging classes yet."

Iwaizumi nods, seemingly satisfied with Oikawa's answer. He glances away, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling it anxiously. Oikawa gets the strangest urge to reach over and poke him, to beg him to stop taking out his apparent frustration on his poor, innocent lip.

"Interesting," Iwaizumi mumbles.

Oikawa waits for him to go on, but Iwaizumi simply returns to his earlier task of staring at his textbook and ceaselessly tapping his desk with the sharpened tip of his pencil.

"Yes, very," Oikawa pipes up, hoping that he can encourage Iwaizumi to carry the conversation. Sadly, Iwaizumi doesn't take the bait and instead provides Oikawa with a slight nod of acknowledgement, nothing more.

"I have a couple friends in the mechanical engineering department." That statement isn't exactly true, but oh well. _Someone_ has to keep the conversation going.

"Yeah?"

"Sure. It seems uh… nice." He feels like an idiot the second the last word leaves his mouth.

"I guess. I'm only a freshman so I haven't taken a lot of classes yet either." A small smile, the closest to genuine so far, graces Iwaizumi's lips. Oikawa counts it as a little victory. Oikawa, 1. Iwaizumi, 0.

One by one, the students around them remove their earphones, claiming a definite seat before the last stragglers come filing in within the next ten minutes or so. Someone takes the seat on the opposite side of Oikawa, as well as the desk in front of him, both students too engrossed in their own thoughts to care about who they sit near.

"Do you have any other classes after this, Iwaizumi-kun?" Oikawa fights to keep the anticipation out of his voice. _Please say no_ , _please say no, please say no,_ he silently pleads. Iwaizumi's disinterest makes Oikawa all the more anxious to get to know him, as twisted as that may seem.

Iwaizumi stills. His eyes drift to the board at the front of the room, narrowed. "No I don't."

He almost sounds reluctant, as if admitting so pains him. Instead of deterring Oikawa like he'd probably intended it to, it only excites him, curious to solve the enigmatic puzzle that is Iwaizumi Hajime.

"Great! We should go get some lunch together after this," Oikawa offers eagerly.

To his delight, Iwaizumi responds exactly the way Oikawa hoped he would.

"Sure."

* * *

Iwaizumi Hajime is confused.

It isn't often that someone comes along and surprises him. He's not easily caught off guard, not at all. Or at least that's what he likes to think. So, when Oikawa Tooru shows up, a living, breathing oxymoron strutting about on two solid legs, he must admit that he's a little impressed.

The moment he saw Oikawa, he found himself entranced. And no, it wasn't because of his striking appearance, although that certainly did catch his attention. It had a lot more to do with the little smile on his lips as he surveyed the classroom, the glint of curiosity dancing behind his wide eyes, the carefree kick of his legs as he sat patiently waiting for everyone to arrive.

Everyone else in the room possessed an aura completely unlike Oikawa's. Dim, dark specks of light, too afraid to venture out and spread their brilliance, while Oikawa, on the other hand, brightened the whole room, like the North Star on a cloudless night.

Oh, right. That's another thing; Iwaizumi isn't human. He's from a planet a considerable distance away, a desolate place that went from a flourishing paradise to a rocky wasteland in the blink of an eye. Thanks to the sudden devastation, his people quickly vacated their world and have spent the last few centuries moving about and collecting data, hoping to find new places to call home.

After travelling through space for twenty years, Iwaizumi's seen many stars. He enjoyed peering out at the universe as they sailed leisurely through the depths of inky black darkness known as space, an entire species crammed within the walls of a ship of staggering size, and often witnessed stars and suns that glowed bright enough to blind anyone irresponsible enough to admire them for too long.

That's what drew Iwaizumi to Oikawa. His demeanor is light, carefree, and welcoming. He settled into the seat beside Oikawa immediately, feeling almost as if he had no choice in the matter, riveted by every flinch and every fidget. Why? Why is he so much different than his classmates? What makes him unique?

Yes, for some reason unbeknownst to even him, Iwaizumi _had_ to join Oikawa in that classroom. It's his duty to find someone worthy of being his Subject. And, even after only spending a little over an hour with Oikawa, Iwaizumi feels like there's something special about him. Something that, hopefully, will make him the perfect person for the job.

But- there's always a _but_ \- a small part of him wishes Oikawa hadn't been the person to catch his attention. It's not that he doesn't like Oikawa. No, it's more of a… gut instinct. His instincts are practically screaming at him to be careful. Oikawa's dangerous; Iwaizumi knows it.

His reluctance to engage Oikawa had actually come in handy, though. He made sure not to make one of the most common mistakes in the book. Many Researchers show too much enthusiasm towards their Subjects, specifically during the first meeting. The thought of finally finding an actual human being to observe generally sends their brain into overdrive and lifts their spirits to unbelievable heights. The poor things have no idea how to contain their excitement. Unfortunately, Subjects get suspicious when a person they've only just met starts gushing about how fortunate they are and begins worshipping the very ground their Subject walks on.

Of course, Iwaizumi's no rookie. He handled the situation maturely and with the kind of poise expected of someone his age, someone of his status. And, to his delight, Oikawa walked right into his, for lack of a better word, trap.

His mentor always said human beings were drawn to a challenge. They flock to mysteries like mindless flies to a flame. Oikawa certainly isn't "mindless", not even close, but he _is_ human. And that's enough for Iwaizumi's disinterest to work like a charm.

Class finishes and, as the two leave, Oikawa starts going on and on about what he claims to be "the ideal lunch spot." Iwaizumi's not all that surprised when it ends up being nothing more than a dining hall a couple buildings over. Iwaizumi's new to the whole "cafeteria" thing, forced to blindly follow Oikawa's lead as he advises him about which foods will destroy his digestive system and which will only cause mild discomfort in the near future.

He takes Oikawa's word and ends up carrying away a tray topped with a hotdog, small bowl of fruit, and glass of water. It's nothing exotic, but Iwaizumi vaguely recalls a few lectures he listened to in the past dealing with college campuses and eating choices. If you were searching for exquisite cuisine from across the globe, you'd come to the wrong place.

The very thought of a hotdog or hamburger makes Iwaizumi queasy, but he'd rather stomach some nasty food than discourage OIkawa. He can't refuse; it's too late now. _Great_.

After a bit of searching, they find an empty table in the far corner, plopping their backpacks into the extra seats. Almost immediately, Oikawa begins barraging Iwaizumi with questions.

"So, how are you liking the place? I'm guessing this is your second semester here like me." Oikawa pulls out several napkins from a dispenser on the table but keeps his eyes locked on Iwaizumi.

"It's nice. A lot bigger than I expected," Iwaizumi says, snatching a couple napkins for himself.

"Ah, yes, I know. But I like the size a lot more than I thought I would," Oikawa agrees.

"Yeah, you get used to it after being here this long." Totally a bullshit answer. Iwaizumi's only been on Earth for a month.

"I've noticed," Oikawa replies. "Well, to be honest, Iwaizumi-kun, I'm happy I came here instead of going somewhere closer."

Iwaizumi quashes the sudden flicker of curiosity. He wants to ask Oikawa about these "closer" schools, about where he went to high school and even his home life, but knows that it's too early for anything like that.

Oikawa speaks up before Iwaizumi has a chance to say anything stupid and possibly detrimental to his mission. "Maybe I'm being too nosy"- Iwaizumi braces himself- "but where are you living? One of the dorms? Because I'm stuck in one of those sorry excuses for on-campus housing right now."

Iwaizumi freezes up. _Idiot_ , he silently berates himself. It's the type of question he should've prepared for long before he set foot on campus, long before he set foot on this planet. It's not even a difficult question! He wants to bash his head into the nearest wall for being so unprepared.

"No, I'm living in an apartment." That much is true.

"Oh really? Lucky," Oikawa drawls, leaning back in his chair, "I wanted one but my good-for-nothing friend thought they were too expensive. And my mother sided with him- not me, her own _son_ \- because 'It's your first year, Tooru-chan, you're supposed to live in a dorm like everyone else.'"

Iwaizumi smirks. Oikawa's completely clueless as to how much information Iwaizumi gathers from that single sentence alone.

"Anyway… who are you rooming with?" Oikawa wonders.

Okay, now this response is a lot tougher. He can't possibly say that he's living with his Mentor, another of his kind that, although he may not look it, just so happens to be twenty years older than Iwaizumi. No, Oikawa would probably ditch his sorry ass. The only reasonable responses are a "friend" or a "relative." But, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that Daichi sure as hell doesn't resemble him enough to be a "relative."

"A friend," Iwaizumi blurts mere seconds after the mental image of Daichi flashes before his eyes. "He doesn't go here, though. Just lives in the area and offered me a place to live." Iwaizumi wants to pat himself on the back for adding the last part.

" _So_ very fortunate," Oikawa whines, "Stupid Tobio-chan."

Iwaizumi remembers what he learned about honorifics. Whoever this "Tobio" person is, he must be close to Oikawa to earn such a title. Again, Iwaizumi's tempted to question Oikawa, but he stops himself before he accidentally finds himself in a rough place.

Oikawa then decides to change the subject. He begins drilling Iwaizumi about his classes, piping up every now and then with random comments concerning his own courses. It doesn't take long for Iwaizumi to realize that Oikawa enjoys math, just as much as he enjoys talking about himself.

Shortly after, he dives right into a story that Iwaizumi admittedly loses interest in quite quickly. As he scans the surrounding area, more students file into the dining hall, and Iwaizumi can't help but be spellbound, captivated by the sight of so many people in one place. He and Oikawa's calculus class pales in comparison.

"And then he pulled a ladybug out of his salad. A _ladybug_ , Iwaizumi-kun. Can you believe that?" Oikawa gestures, pretending to pull a ladybug out of his hotdog. Most of his stories seem to involve hand motions, wild and theatrical ones that remind Iwaizumi of the numerous plays he'd been forced to watch while in training.

Iwaizumi wishes he'd been paying more attention to the first part of Oikawa's story, but from what he can gather, one of Oikawa's friends found a bug in his cafeteria food. Which Iwaizumi readily agrees is disgusting. He suddenly feels queasy again. "At least he didn't eat it."

"Yes, but that means that all of the food here could have bugs in it. I may have eaten four flies by now, and I'd never know it!" Oikawa's getting louder and louder by the second. Iwaizumi wonders if he should quiet him down before they get kicked out of the cafeteria, possibly for good. "Is that why you haven't touched your hotdog, Iwaizumi-kun?"

 _Shit_. Iwaizumi glances down at the food in question, two snaking lines of ketchup and mustard untouched. He wants to say yes, that Oikawa's gross story has stolen his appetite, but that's not exactly true. The truth, though, is more embarrassing than that: he's never eaten a hotdog before. He doesn't even know where to start.

"You shouldn't tell stories like that when someone's trying to eat," Iwaizumi barks, frustration bleeding into his tone. He can't let Oikawa know the truth. But he hates that his inadequacy forces the harsh words out of his mouth. It's not Oikawa's fault that he's an outsider with no prior knowledge of cafeteria food.

Surprisingly, Oikawa doesn't panic or frantically apologize like Iwaizumi thought he may. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest and purses his lips, a hint of frustration in his voice as he mumbles, "It wasn't my fault, Iwaizumi-kun. We've been sitting here for thirty minutes, and you still haven't touched your food. My story wasn't that long."

Had they really been sitting there for _thirty minutes_? "Well… still, you shouldn't."

Oikawa grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, something about Iwaizumi being stubborn, and brings his napkin up to his lips, wiping away a few ketchup smears. They sit in silence for a minute or two before Oikawa decides to call Iwaizumi out again.

"Are you going to eat it or not, Iwaizumi-kun? You've already proved your point. I get it; I've ruined your appetite with my story."

Iwaizumi decides right then and there that he never wants to see or hear a disgruntled Oikawa ever again. To most, he'd sound like a petulant child, but, after seeing his warm and welcoming side, Iwaizumi knows that, deep down, he's not. He doesn't really know Oikawa, but he can already tell that he's much more than just a pretty face. A lot more.

It almost feels like… Oikawa's putting on an act for everyone.

"Of course." Iwaizumi rolls his eyes to emphasize his point and reaches for the silverware beside his plate. "It takes more than that to get rid of my appetite."

Iwaizumi pins down the bun and hotdog with his fork and cuts into it. He's watched several videos in the past about how different human beings prefer to eat. Each region has its own style. The concept always intrigued Iwaizumi, long before he came to Earth.

He swells with confidence as his knife cuts easily through the meat and bun. All of his prior training prepared him for an occasion like this, leading up to the moment he'd be in the field and have to use something he learned in his studies. Once he's cut off a sizable piece, he pops it into his open mouth, chewing it slowly and carefully.

The entire time, Oikawa hasn't said a single word. Iwaizumi choose to ignore him, too intent on the hotdog's taste and his own pride to notice his surroundings. But, as he lifts his gaze, his stomach plummets to his feet.

Oikawa's expression is hard to decipher. Iwaizumi hasn't had much experience with interpreting human emotions, but Oikawa seems torn between laughing and crying.

"What… what the hell are you doing?"

Iwaizumi hesitates. Had he done something wrong? He's almost certain he's just displayed a textbook perfect use of silverware. And yet the hand covering Oikawa's mouth and the crinkled skin around his eyes says differently.

"I'm eating the damn hotdog," Iwaizumi grumbles, setting down his silverware, "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Suddenly, Oikawa's entire body is shaking with the force of his laughter, little tears streaming down his cheeks. He pounds on the table, filling the cafeteria with the clattering cacophony of bouncing silverware and his uproarious cackling.

"What? What's so funny?" Iwaizumi feels blood rising to his cheeks. He'd done so well, and now he wants nothing more than to scurry under the table and hide.

"Y-you just ate a h-hot dog with a… a… a fork and knife!" Oikawa's fist makes contact with the table surface yet again, his entire body bent at the waist as he snorts and laughs into his empty plate.

"And?"

"And? Oh, c'mon, Iwaizumi-kun," Oikawa chides between chuckles, "Nobody cuts up their hotdog and eats it like that!"

Iwaizumi knows his entire face is beet red by this point. Embarrassment rolls off his body in waves, eyes drawn to the offending fork and knife that got him into this mess in the first place. "S-shut up! I forgot!"

Oikawa lets out the loudest guffaw yet. His eyes are squeezed shut, legs kicking under the table, striking Iwaizumi's legs every now and then. Iwaizumi really wishes that he'd quit making a scene. He'd give _anything_ for the laughter to stop and for people to go back to eating and gossiping with their damned friends.

"How… how-" Iwaizumi can't quite make out the rest of Oikawa's question, but he can only imagine what it is.

He carries on for another minute before eventually settling down. Panting, clearly out of breath, Oikawa manages to string a few words together in a sentence. "Do you really eat your hotdogs that way? With a… well, you know."

Iwaizumi has no idea how to answer. On one hand, if he says yes, Oikawa may think he's weird and leave. And then Iwaizumi would have to find a new Subject. The chances of finding someone equally as unique and enthusiastic on such short notice were awfully slim. Even if Oikawa's flawed, even if he's basically the polar opposite of Iwaizumi and may, in fact, drive him crazy by the end of his term on Earth, he's the best option.

If Iwaizumi says no, though, Oikawa will have more questions. And how the hell is he going to explain why he "forgot" how to eat a hotdog? In other words, he's screwed.

"Yeah, sometimes," Iwaizumi sighs. It's the only (and first) thing his frazzled mind comes up with.

"Only sometimes?" Oikawa's sporting one of the biggest shit-eating grins Iwaizumi has ever seen. He can't decide if he'd rather smack it off his smug face or hug the absolute _shit_ out of him. It's an odd feeling, that's for sure.

"You're so damned nosy." Iwaizumi lifts the hotdog to eye level. "Would it make you feel better if I ate it like this?"

"Iwa-"

"Actually, better question. If I eat it without cutting it up first, will you stop asking me questions?" Iwaizumi mirrors Oikawa's smug expression and, to his delight, manages to render his meddlesome companion speechless.

Satisfied with Oikawa's reaction, Iwaizumi shoves the hotdog into his mouth and bites into it, savoring every burst of flavor. It's not only the first time he's eaten finger food but also the first time he's eaten in the presence of a human.

Oikawa's jaw snaps shut, and he cocks his head to the side, silently observing Iwaizumi as he enjoys his first foray into cafeteria food. Iwaizumi can't help but observe Oikawa, too. His gaze traces the slight crinkles at the corner of his eyes, wondering if they're the result of many years filled with laughter similar to the outburst from earlier. Meanwhile, Oikawa does the same, watching Iwaizumi as if it's the first time he's ever seen another person eat before. And, slowly, Iwaizumi glimpses the same warm, welcoming demeanor from earlier.

"You're something else, Iwaizumi-kun." Oikawa's tone matches the fondness in his gaze, soft and prodding, curious but not too forceful.

Iwaizumi's grin widens, hotdog still perched in his hand. "Look who's talking."

* * *

Kageyama is definitely a genius on the volleyball court, Oikawa will give him that, but, when it comes to offering advice, he's far from it.

"I don't get what the big deal is," Kageyama repeats for what feels like the millionth time since Oikawa slammed open their door and flopped down onto Kageyama's bed.

Oikawa isn't sure why he expected a different response, let alone a helpful one. "There's something different about him, Tobio-chan. I don't know what it is but… he's interesting."

"Are you trying to get into his pants?" Kageyama deadpans.

Blood rushes to Oikawa's cheeks. "Oh, hush." He turns over onto his stomach and buries his face in Kageyama's pillow. "Do you really think that little of me?"

"I'm just saying, that's all. I wouldn't care if you did," Kageyama insists. Oikawa can't see his face, but he sounds sure of himself. Plus, Kageyama is a terrible liar; Oikawa could easily sniff out one of his lies from a mile away.

"Whatever." Oikawa closes his eyes and inhales. The pillow smells a lot nicer than he'd expected. Knowing Kageyama, the poor thing should've reeked of body odor and sweat. It's a pleasant surprise, breathing in the faint aroma of Kageyama's shampoo and their shared detergent, almost calming. He curls and uncurls his toes, inhales once more for good measure, and slowly lifts his head, pillowing it on his folded arms.

Kageyama stands a few feet away. Leaning against the door frame, he regards Oikawa with his usual nonchalance, a lazy smile quirking up the corners of his lips. But, deep down, buried beneath the indifferent facade, Oikawa knows that a part of Kageyama cares. He just has a weird way of showing it.

"Well, if you don't want _that,_ what do you want?"

"Friendship, Tobio-chan," Oikawa sighs, rolling over onto his back. He raises one of his arms and closely examines his hand, watching each knuckle as he bends and extends his fingers. "That's still a thing, you know. Fooling around isn't a requirement when you're talking to someone. I mean, look at us. We've known each other for years and we've never-"

"Fuck no," Kageyama interjects, looking utterly scandalized. "That's never going to happen."

"And I never said it would, geez, calm down." Oikawa giggles. It's just like Kageyama to jump to conclusions like that. "It's the same with Iwaizumi-kun. I just want to be friends."

Although Kageyama stares at him like he's sprouted another head, Oikawa's being completely honest. The last few relationships he was involved in didn't exactly turn out well. A couple of them came to a screeching halt when Oikawa explained his passion for volleyball and that it came first. Another ended when his girlfriend started stalking his house over the weekend after he stopped replying to her texts, something that had sufficiently crept him out and kept him from dating for a solid month or so afterward.

And then there's… well, he doesn't like to think about his last relationship.

Several break ups later and Oikawa doesn't quite feel like finding someone new. What he really needs is another friend. Someone other than Kageyama, someone other than- he hates to admit it- his teammates, even Kuroo.

"Alright." Kageyama sighs and moves away from the door, choosing to perch on the edge of Oikawa's bed instead. Considering the fact his own bed is taken at the moment. "Alright, I get that."

"Mmm," Oikawa agrees. He lets his hand fall back to his side, clutching at Kageyama's blanket. "There's something there, Tobio-chan, I swear. He feels… familiar. And I need to know why."


	2. investigation on the court

**Author's Note:** chapter 2, here we go! so, after consulting my lovely twitter followers, I decided to add another character (and ship) that I'd debated including from the beginning. after all, everyone needs more lev and yakulev in their life. I also decided to write kageyama the way I hc him: aro and demisexual. lastly, a note about oikawa's volleyball team: oikawa, bokuto, kuroo, kageyama, hinata, and lev are all freshmen but yaku is a sophomore

anyway, a quick thanks yet again to my betas, adri and kristi, and all of the sweet people who encourage me to keep writing! thank you for the favorites, follows, comments, and such! now, on with the show. I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it

* * *

 _Beep, beep, beep._

Iwaizumi hates his life.

"Whoever invented the alarm clock is an asshole," he grumbles and, without even cracking open his eyes, reaches over and attempts to turn the damned thing off. He misjudges the distance, though, and ends up knocking it over. The sound is fucking awful, droning on and _on_ and Iwaizumi is going to strangle Daichi when he sees him because that bastard is the one who bought it for him in the first place.

Somehow, he manages to get his hands on the monstrosity and shuts it off, kind of wishing he could crush it instead and end its wailing forever, and takes a second to soak in the beauty of the resulting silence. He grudgingly opens his eyes.

The morning light bathes his bed, the walls, everything in the immediate area, in its soft yellow glow, ephemeral and beautiful. Even the potted plant Daichi picked up at the grocery store, stem and leaves fighting their way out of the soil, looks like something straight out of a dream.

It's nothing at all like his previous room. The floors are coated in a synthetic material designed to keep the space as free of germs as physically possible. The walls of the room are metallic with a single set of drawers on the far wall. He hasn't actually seen a hospital room firsthand, but the smell, the stale air and hard surfaces, had always reminded him of his dismal home.

Admittedly, waking up to this is a welcome change.

The fresh smell of baking food wafting in from the kitchen, the brush of soft cotton against his bare skin, the faint warmth of morning light streaming through the window, all coaxing him to stay in bed instead of rushing off to morning classes. He inhales and slowly exhales, rolling onto his side. Iwaizumi has no idea how humans do it, this whole "getting up in the morning" thing.

Eventually, he crawls out of bed and trudges into the kitchen. The delicious aroma is stronger the closer he gets. The overpowering and tantalizing scent of whatever the hell Daichi's decided to cook envelops Iwaizumi, curling around his arms and legs, dragging him toward the nearest chair.

He settles into his seat, perching his elbows on the granite breakfast bar. "'Morning."

Daichi turns briefly, spatula in hand. "Good morning." His gaze sweeps over Iwaizumi. "You look… rested."

Iwaizumi snorts. "I wouldn't say that."

"Well, I certainly slept well. I haven't slept that well in a while," Daichi comments, shrugging his shoulders. He turns back to the stove, zeroing in on the golden brown disc-shaped food in the pan. If Iwaizumi remembers correctly, he believes it's what humans call a "pancake."

"Oh, I hate you, by the way," Iwaizumi says, nonchalant, as if he's discussing something mundane like today's weather, not his newfound hatred towards his Mentor.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. That fucking alarm clock you forced me to buy? I'm pretty sure that… _thing_ is the reason humans wage wars."

Daichi doesn't respond. He slips the spatula underneath the pancake and carefully flips it, watching as it strikes the pan with a satisfying sizzle, filling the surrounding area with its mouth-watering aroma.

"There has to be a better way. I'm going to go crazy if I have to hear that ' _beep, beep, beep_ ' every single morning we're here," Iwaizumi mumbles, scowling as he mimics the alarm clock's godforsaken howling.

"A lot of college students use their cellular devices," Daichi explains, pressing the flat side of the spatula into the top of the pancake. "But, sadly, the substitutes we've brought with us don't come equipped with an alarm. A flaw in the design, in my opinion. They completely forgot that the chips don't work here."

Every member of their kind has a chip implanted in their skin at a young age. It has many capabilities ranging from simple tasks, such as producing a signal in the brain when its wearer has to wake up in the morning, to more advanced things, primarily providing the framework for any disguise they may need on a planet with species possessing bodies and physical appearances far different from their own.

"Besides, it's not my fault that we had to buy alarm clocks," Daichi quickly adds as an afterthought. If it were anyone else, Iwaizumi would smack them upside the head for being a smartass. But this is Daichi; he's stating a fact, not trying to piss Iwaizumi off.

"Yeah, sure," Iwaizumi says, "Doesn't change the way I feel about it, though. I want to get rid of that piece of trash as soon as possible."

Daichi sighs and scoops the pancake out of the pan, adding it to the small stack on a plate beside the stove. He brings it over to the bar area and smiles weakly. It's a sad attempt; he looks more constipated than anything else.

Iwaizumi decides to do the poor guy a favor and change the subject.

"Anyway, what about those?"

"Pancakes," Daichi explains. The pained grimace immediately transforms into a triumphant grin, lighting up his entire face. Daichi's not necessarily a morning person, but he definitely fares better than Iwaizumi who hates the early hours of the day with a burning passion. He's already styled his hair, dark brown locks tamed, and his work clothes (button-down, tie, slacks, the whole nine yards) look pressed and ready to go. The apron- _he actually spent money on a 'Kiss The Cook' apron, incredible_ \- seems strangely out of place coupled with Daichi's formal attire.

"Huh, pancakes." Iwaizumi peers down at the food in question and leans a little closer. He can't help but be skeptical of something Daichi's whipped up. From what he remembers, his Mentor isn't graced with the fine culinary skills of a chef. Not even close. He's pretty sure he heard rumors that Daichi can't even fry an egg properly.

"This isn't something we had back on the ship so how the hell did you know how to make them?"

Suddenly, Daichi's cheeks flush. Iwaizumi blinks, under the impression that his eyes are deceiving him. There's no way that Daichi, his Mentor for some time now, is blushing. Especially at the mention of _pancakes_ , no less.

"I was at the grocery store just down the street and ran into someone. I wanted to try something new, this breakfast food called a 'bagel', but couldn't find any so this man helped me out. And, well, to make a long story short, he gave me his pancake recipe. He said they were to die for. I'm not quite sure if I want to eat a pancake worthy of someone else's death, though."

 _A pancake that kills?_ Iwaizumi thinks back to the hotdog incident and shivers. But, more importantly, a _grocery store?_ Apparently his Mentor's in the business of making small talk with random, villainous strangers at the supermarket. Somehow, Iwaizumi isn't surprised.

"Well, I hope they're as good as this friend of yours claims they are," Iwaizumi comments. "And they better not fucking kill me. Food here doesn't really agree with my digestive system."

It's true. His last run-in with human food didn't quite turn out the way he'd planned. First, he found himself confronted with one of the few terran foods he promised himself he'd never eat. Then, his most promising Subject candidate had to go and make fun of his perfect- Iwaizumi will swear up and down that it was _perfect_ \- use of eating utensils. And, to top it all off, later that evening, the damned thing made his stomach grumble and ache as if it were about to burst.

So much for Oikawa's dining hall expertise.

"I hope not," Daichi replies.

Iwaizumi's brow furrows. Something about Daichi's voice, something about the way he quickly turns away and stares at the stove as if it's the most fascinating thing he's ever laid eyes on, instantly sets off warning bells in Iwaizumi's head. The second he gets back to the apartment after class, he's sitting Daichi down and having a nice long chat about this mystery man of his.

Hesitantly, Iwaizumi reaches for his fork and knife and repeats his technique from yesterday, sticking a small piece of the warm breakfast food into his mouth. His eyes slip shut and-

 _Wow_.

The buttery morsel tastes sweet and delicious and _so_ much better than that fucking hotdog.

Iwaizumi crams another larger piece of pancake into his mouth and somehow manages to speak as he chews. "Do you think I can take the rest of this with me and eat it in class?"

* * *

Oikawa's about to go crazy, he's sure of it.

After the yesterday's events, Oikawa hoped to have a nice, long, fulfilling conversation with his fabulous new friend. But no. _No._ He and Iwaizumi sit in the same seats- after exchanging one of the most awkward greetings Oikawa's ever had the misfortune of experiencing- and haven't said a single word to each other since class started.

Oikawa hates it. He positively loathes the uncomfortable tension that hangs in the air between them, especially because he's almost positive he's done nothing wrong. The other day, lunch ended, and they both went their separate ways. Phone numbers weren't exchanged or anything so it's not like he flooded Iwaizumi's inbox or sent him embarrassing, nonsensical snapchats in the middle of the night. They aren't quite to _that_ stage in their friendship yet.

He glances over, watching carefully as Iwaizumi scribbles down whatever the professor's written on the board. His nose scrunches up when he's focused like this, torso bent over his desk, close enough to squish his nose into the paper if he leaned over just a bit further. _Iwaizumi-kun, so intense_. Oikawa can't help but find it endearing.

"Iwaizumi-kun?" he whispers cautiously.

Nothing. Iwaizumi remains intent on jotting down the equation on the board.

But Oikawa Tooru's not a quitter, no way. "Iwaizumi-kun?"

This time, he swears he catches Iwaizumi falter. He refuses to acknowledge Oikawa, and continues on as if he hasn't heard a thing. Oikawa sighs because of course Iwaizumi's just as stubborn as he originally thought.

Oikawa's about to repeat Iwaizumi's name, scratch this strangely incessant itch, but stops. _You leave me no choice_ , Oikawa muses disappointedly, shaking his head.

"Iwa… Iwa-chan?"

The pencil immediately slips out of Iwaizumi's slackened grip, rolling off the desk and on to the floor. Oikawa stifles a laugh. He looks like a bristling porcupine with his spiky hair and narrowed eyes. He also looks like he's five seconds from clawing the mischievous smirk right off of Oikawa's face.

"What?" Iwaizumi hisses.

Oikawa's raises his hand to his mouth, shielding his moving lips from the students in front of them and, more importantly, their professor. He inhales, holds it, and, fighting every urge to giggle, whispers, "Hi."

Iwaizumi blinks owlishly at him and, okay, now he _really_ seems like he wants to hit Oikawa.

"You've got to be-" He mumbles more curses and frustrated gibberish under his breath and bends over to scoop up his pencil. Oikawa is promptly forgotten again as Iwaizumi settles back into his chair and squints at the board, picking up right where he left off.

"I wanted to ask you something," Oikawa continues. If only their seats were a little closer. He'd reach out and pluck that stupid writing utensil right out of Iwaizumi's hand. He wants nothing more than to snap the infernal thing in half and toss it in the trash.

Iwaizumi ignores him. Again. Apparently he doesn't find Oikawa's antics as funny as Oikawa himself does. A shame, really.

"Iwa-cha-"

"Can't it wait?" Iwaizumi says and, no, he's definitely not amused. "I'm surprised you're able to take notes when you keep… shit, I can't believe this. Just ask me after class."

He huffs and turns his attention back to the board. Unfortunately for him, Oikawa's never been the most patient person.

"Iwa-chan-"

"What?"

Everything goes silent. Nearby students glance over their shoulder, abandoning their notes. Oikawa feels the most irrational impulse to burst out laughing at the sight of Iwaizumi's dumbstruck expression. It reminds him of the times his mother teased him about making faces and about how his face would get stuck like that if he weren't more careful.

"Something wrong back there?" Their professor looks _livid_ , all 5'6" of him poised to give Iwaizumi a piece of his mind. It's getting harder and harder for Oikawa to control himself. He can't recall the last time he's had this much fun in class.

"N-no, sir," Iwaizumi blurts. He's tomato red and clearly mortified.

"Good, save that for after my class." The wrinkles on his forehead intensify, and he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "I expected more from students at this stage in their educational careers."

Iwaizumi apologizes at least ten more times- Oikawa loses count after the first five times- before the professor finally urges him to calm down and, flashing Oikawa one last disbelieving look, returns to his teaching. Thankfully, the other students follow suit a few seconds later.

Oikawa hesitantly peeks at Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye. His flushed cheeks have yet to return to normal, and he's gripping the infamous pencil with enough force to break it if he so wished. _'Iwa-chan' certainly suits him,_ Oikawa decides right then and there.

The rest of the class surprisingly passes without incident. Iwaizumi refuses to acknowledge Oikawa's presence, acting as if he's not even there, and Oikawa manages to keep to himself. He's had his fill of embarrassing Iwaizumi- at least for the next couple hours.

The second the professor dismisses them, Iwaizumi throws his stuff in his backpack and climbs to his feet. He clearly plans to get out before Oikawa can catch him, but, oh, is he wrong. Oikawa has other plans for him.

"So, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, leaning against Iwaizumi's desk, "about that important question I wanted to ask…"

"You mean the one that almost got me kicked out of class? _That_ question?"

Oikawa, of course, chooses to ignore the bitterness in Iwaizumi's voice. "Well, I wondered if you wanted to come watch our volleyball practice tonight?"

The idea is actually Kageyama's. Apparently he can't come up with any advice that doesn't involve or center around volleyball. Not that it's a bad plan or anything. Oikawa wanted to make new friends and what better way to do that then introduce said friends to one of the things he loved most?

Iwaizumi stills, eyes widening. "Volleyball."

"Volleyball," Oikawa repeats, a bit confused. "As in the sport? I'm sure you're well aware of what that is, Iwa-chan."

For a split second, Oikawa thinks Iwaizumi may not know what volleyball is after all. Recognition doesn't cross his face. But who in their right mind hasn't heard of _volleyball?_

"You do know what that is… right?"

"Of course," Iwaizumi snaps. His voice wavers, though, and Oikawa cocks his head, regarding Iwaizumi curiously.

"But?"

"But…" Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck, eyes flitting around the room, avoiding Oikawa's questioning gaze. "I've never actually watched it. In person."

 _Fantastic_. Oikawa can't believe his luck.

"Oh, Iwa-chan, there's nothing quite like it!" he gushes. He brings his forearms together, bends his knees ever so slightly, assuming the perfect passing position. "The ball makes contact with your arms and sails into the air and-" Oikawa quickly raises his arms- "the setter, yours truly, sets it to the hitter who scores. It's so exciting!"

Iwaizumi listens quietly, but Oikawa doesn't miss the brief flicker of interest in his eyes.

"It's incredible, Iwa-chan! You should really come."

"Maybe…"

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa whines. He wants Iwaizumi to see his team in action- to see _him_ in action.

"Will you stop calling me that if I do?" He's fishing for an excuse at this point; Oikawa knows he's already won.

"Seven o'clock tonight." Oikawa takes a step closer, jabbing Iwaizumi's nose playfully. In typical Iwaizumi fashion, he flinches and scowls at Oikawa's fingertip. "Don't be late."

* * *

Iwaizumi would be lying if he said he didn't form certain expectations when he agreed to sit in on Oikawa's practice.

He imagined a gym similar to the one's he's seen in videos, with its high ceilings, squeaky floors, and towering net. He pictured a stern coach, hands poised on his hips as he shouted commands and offered constructive criticism to his players. And, to be honest, he thought he'd walk in and find a team full of stubborn, overexcited athletes. Or, in other words, a team full of Oikawas.

The gym, at least, stays true to his preconceived notions. The smell of rubber and something Iwaizumi can't quite place fills the space. He tilts his head back, surveying the large light fixtures that line the ceiling, illuminating the court and the bright red pads wrapped securely around the net's poles.

Oikawa directs him to the bench situated on the court's sideline. "They should be here any min-"

"Well, well, well."

Both Iwaizumi and Oikawa turn their attention to the doorway. Tall- that's the first thing Iwaizumi notices about the looming figure as he steps inside the gym. The second is his hair, which from this distance at least, appears jet black and spiky, effortlessly casual, and, well, messy. And then there's his eyes, narrow and cat-like and certainly reason enough for Iwaizumi to feel on edge.

Behind him, roughly the same height, another person comes into view and a gasp slips past Iwaizumi's lips. His hair… it's the strangest hairstyle Iwaizumi has ever seen. It's spiky like his friend's, but, as if that wasn't weird enough, the wild mess atop his head is gray. _Gray._ Wide golden eyes, not half as unsettling as his companion's narrowed pupils, meet Iwaizumi's watchful gaze. He's immediately reminded of the fluffy nocturnal birds Daichi told him about. What were they called again? Oh, right. Owls.

"I can't believe I beat you here, Tetsu-chan," Oikawa laughs. _Tetsu-chan_?

"You know how it is with this one." The scarier of the two, 'Tetsu-chan', gestures at his owlish friend. "Better look out, Oikawa. I think you have competition. He spends more time on that damn hair of his."

"Hey, hey!" The owl boy digs his elbow into his friend's side.

"Hmmm good point. I think Kou-chan has me beat," Oikawa agrees, nodding enthusiastically. The three of them start chuckling, and Iwaizumi suddenly wishes he hadn't come. There's something intimate about the way they gently nudge each other, about the arms slung across each other's shoulders, the infectious sound of their combined laughter. Iwaizumi feels like he's intruding on something personal.

An earthly idiom comes to mind. He's never really understood its meaning until now. As he watches them, obviously very close, he feels like a fish out of water, desperate to return to the comfort and familiarity of its home.

"Oh, I'm sorry. How rude of me." Finally, they separate. "Iwa-chan, this is our dependable vice-captain and, eh… somewhat dependable ace!"

The owl bristles. " _Somewhat_ dependable?"

The 'dependable vice-captain' smirks and extends his hand out to Iwaizumi. "Kuroo Tetsurou."

Hesitantly, Iwaizumi accepts the hand. His grip is strong and sure, gaze piercing, and Iwaizumi suddenly understands why Oikawa appears to get along so well with him.

The aforementioned ace shoves Kuroo gracelessly out of the way and snatches Iwaizumi's hand before he can withdraw it. His shake is enthusiastic and excitable and, alright, Iwaizumi is really beginning to see why this friendship works. "Bokuto Koutarou. But you can just call me Bokuto."

"Nice to meet you both," Iwaizumi says, struggling to hide his grimace as he fights to regain the feeling in his fingers.

"And who's this?"

A few more people file into the gym, shoes squeaking across the floor as they make their way over to where everyone else has gathered. The shortest of them all, the one who spoke, leads the group and stops right in front of Iwaizumi, looking him up and down. "Oikawa's friend, I'm guessing."

Oikawa flushes. "What's that supposed to mean, Mori-chan?"

 _Another –chan_.

Iwaizumi gets a closer look at him now that he's closer. Golden brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, he's certainly tinier than every other player in the room, and yet he carries a sort of presence that makes him stand out, makes him seem several times bigger than his actual size. And, as Iwaizumi stares back into this 'Mori-chan's' wide expressive eyes, he realizes that Kuroo's not the only one with feline qualities.

"Mori-chan is our libero," Oikawa pipes up helpfully.

"Yaku Morisuke." The libero's handshake differs from Kuroo and Bokuto's but still possesses the same amount of strength and certainty, the careful and controlled grip of someone who's used to supporting others as well as himself.

Iwaizumi doesn't quite know the guy yet, but he can already tell that he's going to like Yaku.

"Yaku-san, Yaku-san!"

Whiny and shrill, Iwaizumi figures it's Oikawa who's calling out for Yaku, using another of his many nicknames.

But it's not.

A fucking _giant_ materializes out of thin air with smooth hair a shade darker than Bokuto's and sharp green eyes that seem to stare directly into Iwaizumi's soul. He's huge, towering over Yaku and Iwaizumi both. He grins at Iwaizumi, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as if he can't bring himself to stop moving- not even for a second.

"Hey there," he trills and snatches Iwaizumi's hand. He squeezes it, shaking it with enthusiasm that puts even Bokuto's handshake to shame. "I'm Lev Haiba. The future ace!"

"Um, nice to me-"

"Oi, calm down," Yaku scolds, glaring up at Lev. "You're going to scare Iwaizumi-kun away. He'll never want to come back."

Lev, surprisingly, doesn't argue. As a matter of fact, he ceases his jittering and nods, shyly lowering his head. "Sorry, Iwaizumi-san."

Iwaizumi doesn't really understand what the hell just happened. But Yaku looks pleased with himself, and, although Lev seems dejected at first, he recovers from the reprimand awfully quickly. He sticks close by Yaku's side as they make their way toward the court. It's a little odd, but the staggering height difference and familiar way Lev falls into step beside Yaku brings a smile to Iwaizumi's face.

Just like Yaku and Lev, the other players are slowly moving away, breaking off into pairs so they can begin stretching. Iwaziumi surveys the team, surprised by the varying heights and builds of everyone present. Honestly, he's intrigued. He knows little to nothing about volleyball.

Seeing so many muscular people in one place, each carrying an aura similar to Oikawa's, is overwhelming. The unwavering confidence, the sheer power, the combined force enough to bring someone to their knees. _There's strength in numbers_ , Iwaizumi recalls.

And yet… there's something missing. He can't quite put his finger on it, but the group seems incomplete at the moment, like an important piece of the team, this seemingly mismatched athletic puzzle, has been misplaced.

Suddenly, the front door to the gym slams open, the resounding clash ringing in Iwaizumi's ears. He starts, but no one else appears fazed by the chaos that's literally come crashing into their gym. Two people tumble to the floor, a flailing mess of limbs and angry yelling, wrestling for control in a fight that makes absolutely no sense to Iwaizumi whatsoever.

"Finally," Oikawa breathes. He rests his hands on his hips and glares in the direction of the newcomers who, upon spotting the furious look in Oikawa's eyes, cease their fighting. "I was about to call you. I should've known you were with Chibi-chan."

The taller of the two fixes Oikawa with his sharp gaze, frustration evident in his depthless blue eyes. Smooth black hair hangs down in a fringe, tickling his forehead, and his lips are set in what appears to be a permanent scowl. He's about Oikawa's height and possesses a similar build, equally as muscular and equally as- maybe even more- intimidating.

"We got a late start."

Iwaizumi cringes. Yes, there's definitely something distinctive about this player that sets him apart from Oikawa. His voice carries authority, deep and commanding, perfectly suited to the fire dancing behind his eyes.

"I guess it can't be helped." Oikawa sighs again, and Iwaizumi gets the feeling that this is a common occurrence when these two are involved. _Especially_ the disgruntled one.

And then there's the other player.

He's glowing, just like the sunshine filtering through Iwaizumi's window earlier that morning, and Iwaizumi's gaze is instantly drawn to the shock of orange hair and round golden eyes. He steps in front of his angry companion, although he's a good four inches or so shorter, and folds his arms across his chest.

"Tobio-" he points at the tall, dark-haired boy behind him and Iwaizumi freezes because he _knows_ that name- "couldn't find his gym bag so we had to go back to your dorm and look for it but he forgot his key back at my dorm so we had to go all-"

"Who's that?"

Tobio loses interest in his defender's ridiculous retelling of their afternoon and faces Iwaizumi. The walking sunshine's hand shoots out to grab his arm, but Tobio is already striding toward Iwaizumi.

So this is the infamous 'Tobio-chan.' He's a great deal more ominous in person, that's for sure. Oikawa made him sound like a slob, maybe a bit heartless, but he never mentioned his incredible presence.

"Iwaizumi Hajime." He blurts before Oikawa can interrupt. "Oikawa's friend."

"I see."

His friend chooses that moment to bound over and join the conversation. "Hi, Iwaizumi-kun! I'm Hinata Shouyou, and this is my, uh, friend. Kageyama Tobio."

Iwaizumi's thankful that Hinata stepped in when he did. Kageyama looks uncomfortable, as if he's not used to introductions or talking to strangers. Which, if the calloused fingers wrapped loosely around Kageyama's wrist are any indication, is most likely the case.

"It's nice of you to come to Oikawa's practice like this," Kageyama says, and, to Iwaizumi's astonishment, sounds genuinely pleased by the development.

Hinata sidles a little closer to Kageyama and nods. His mouth opens, still smiling, but then his jaw snaps shut. His eyes flit to Oikawa and back to Iwaizumi. He brightens, grin so wide that Iwaizumi fears his face may split, and turns, tugging Kageyama in the direction of the court. "Nice to meet you, Iwaizumi-kun!"

"You too," Iwaizumi replies. _Strange_.

Hinata's an open book, the kind of person that wears his emotions proudly on his sleeve. He has nothing to hide. So Iwaizumi can feel that something's off as soon as he averts his gaze, as soon as he drags Kageyama toward the other stretching players.

Kageyama, on the other hand, is a different story. He's the antithesis of bright and cheery Hinata, the kind of person who strives to keep every emotion, every secret and unspoken concern, bottled up inside. Iwaizumi enjoys challenges- just look at fucking Oikawa- but Kageyama's emotional state is nearly impossible to read. Iwaizumi can only hope that he's made a decent impression considering the fact that Tobio and Oikawa appear to be close.

From then on, the players seem to forget Iwaizumi's there. They practice several techniques, things that Iwaizumi vaguely remembers reading about. The first twenty minutes are spent on serving the ball over the net, while the rest of the players stand on the receiving side, passing the ball up to Oikawa and Kageyama who take turns catching it.

Iwaizumi gapes at Yaku, at the effortless way he situates his body in front of the ball as it flies over the net, smacking directly into his forearms before making a perfect arc in the air and landing in Oikawa or Kageyama's palms. The others do a decent job, but Iwaizumi can tell that Yaku has spent countless hours perfecting his technique.

Next, the players practice something called blocking. On either side of the net, they move, varying their steps and hopping straight up in the air, stretching their straightened arms high above their heads. It looks absolutely exhausting; Iwaizumi doesn't envy them at all. Kuroo and Lev, with their long ass legs, take the least steps but cover the most ground, expansive palms creating a roof of sorts above the net. It, too, seems like the result of extensive practice.

After working on a drill involving diving, the players then arrange themselves in lines: one along the left side of the court, another along the right side, and a significantly smaller line in the middle.

Again, Oikawa and Kageyama alternate, each jumping in to set the ball up for each of the three waiting spikers, switching after each has taken their turn. Iwaizumi picks out Bokuto and Lev first. Each carefully watches the ball's trajectory and times their steps based on its height and speed, jumping at precisely the right moment. They, too, make the movements look effortless, palms contacting the ball and slamming it down on the opposite court where Yaku receives, diving across the floor when the attack falls outside of his immediate area.

 _They must score the most points_ , Iwaizumi resolves, enthralled by their fluid movements.

But that thought process doesn't last for long. Everything changes when Kageyama steps up to set and, zipping across the court from the middle to the far right-hand side in a few quick strides, Hinata leaps and steals the ball right out of the air. It lands completely out of Yaku's range with a loud, satisfying _smack_.

Iwaziumi's jaw drops. Did that really just happen?

Everyone offers a "nice kill" and, as if something magnificent and out of the ordinary hasn't just happened, return to their normal routine. But Iwaizumi's attentive; he pays close attention to his surroundings. He is a Researcher, after all, and that's what they do best.

Quick enough so that no one seems to catch it, Kageyama and Hinata exchange a look that Iwaizumi knows he's not privy to. It's special, fond, and definitely the product of years of trust.

Iwaizumi clasps his hand over his mouth.

The playful shoves as they fell to the floor when they arrived, not an ounce of violent intent in their "fighting." The way Hinata stepped between Oikawa and Kageyama, the way he curled his fingers around Kageyama's wrist to soothe him, the silent communication and incredible cohesiveness on the court- it finally clicked together in Iwaizumi's head.

 _Oh_.

Iwaizumi really needs to sharpen his skills in the field. Daichi won't let him live this down if he finds out. Which is why he most certainly won't.

"Good work, everyone!" Oikawa claps his hands together. "Time to cool down!"

"Alright!" Everyone choruses back, grouping together in the same pairs from earlier. They stretch just like before, talking quietly amongst themselves. The atmosphere changes from one of intensity to one of calm and a startling degree of tranquility.

Iwaizumi is about to stand, maybe even grab Oikawa's bag for him- only so that they can get out sooner, of course- but stills when Oikawa beckons him closer, jerking his head in the direction of the court.

There's no way he's offering…

"What?" Iwaizumi calls back, regarding Oikawa cautiously.

"Why don't you give it a shot, Iwa-chan?" His smile is playful, teasing, and yet it feels real, the kind of pure smile that few people are fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of. "I'm sure you're curious."

He's got a point; Iwaizumi's curiosity is most certainly piqued. It's a common weakness that most Researchers grapple with. Iwaizumi's logical side decides to conveniently step out whenever he's given an opportunity like this.

"Dumbass, I told you," he grumbles, planting his feet, "I've never played before."

"Doesn't matter," Oikawa insists. It's too late. He's made up his mind and will do anything it takes to get Iwaizumi on the court with a ball in his hand.

"Sure it does." Iwaizumi's growing desperate. "I'm terrible."

"You don't know that if you've never even _tried_ , Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi really, without a single doubt in his mind, wants to smack Oikawa because, fuck, his logic is actually sound, and Iwaizumi's rapidly running out of excuses.

Oikawa's teammates choose that moment to call out their goodbye's before slipping out of the gym. He swears that Kuroo and Bokuto wink at him as they leave, possibly Lev as well, while Yaku rolls his eyes and, when Iwaizumi's eyes meet his, shrugs. Yeah, he likes Yaku.

Kageyama and Hinata are the last to file out, lingering in the doorway. Kageyama is staring both he and OIkawa down, an unreadable expression on his blank face. He looks like he wants to say something, but Hinata latches onto Kageyama and yanks him out the door before he can speak.

"Come on." Iwaizumi's limbs feel like stone, heavy and unmoving, and, before he can come to his senses, Oikawa's right there and grabbing his arm and dragging him onto the court and, oh gods, he feels sick to his stomach.

"Stop," he protests weakly.

Before Iwaizumi can toss out another pathetic complaint, Oikawa's placing his hands on his shoulders and pushing down. When Iwaizumi remains stiff and unyielding, Oikawa exhales loudly and changes tactics, circling around to stand behind Iwaizumi instead.

"You have to loosen up a bit," he encourages, fingers sliding down from Iwaizumi's shoulders, slowly making their way to his waist. Oikawa's breath, warm and a lot closer than he'd initially thought, ghosts across the shell of his ear. "Stiffening up like this makes it hard on your joints, especially when you jump and land. The chances of blowing out one of your knees are a lot higher."

Iwaizumi merely nods. Words have escaped him.

"Now, I'll demonstrate the three step approach, and then you try it. What do you say, Iwa-chan?" The name flows languidly from Oikawa's lips, breathed softly against his flushed skin. The feeling's odd and new but far from unwelcome. A part of him really likes the sensation, the sudden flood of heat through his veins.

"Okay," he agrees and, thankfully, doesn't stutter or lose his composure.

Oikawa does exactly as he promised. With the practiced ease of someone who's performed the steps hundreds, probably thousands, of times before, he strides to the net in three efficient and carefully timed steps. On the final step, he jumps and swings his right arm as if he's actually hitting a moving ball.

The movement doesn't quite strike the same cord as Kageyama and Hinata's bizarre set and spike combination, but it's impressive, nevertheless. Oikawa's a setter, after all, and truly shines when he's tossing to his hitters. _That_ ' _s_ when he's the most incredible, the most breathtaking.

He lands gracefully and makes very little noise for someone of his build and height. It's surprisingly beautiful, and Iwaizumi is again reminded of the stars, exploding into brilliance. Powerful and flashy, filling the depths of space with color and light.

"Your turn," Oikawa encourages, stepping aside.

Iwaizumi feels awfully dull, having to follow up an act like that, but inches toward the attack line anyway. He stares down at his feet. The shoes don't fit perfectly, a little too big since they actually belong to Oikawa, and Iwaizumi worries that he may trip over his own feet or a wayward shoe lace.

He's about to take his first step but hesitates. His pride is at stake here, and, well, he's not thrilled by the idea of gambling with something so precious.

A light touch, fingers pushing right between his shoulder blades, forces him forward, nearly losing his balance. He glances over his shoulder, knowing full well that Oikawa will be right there behind him. And, of course, he is.

"I never pegged you as the nervous type, Iwa-chan," Oikawa laughs, shaking his head. "There's nothing to be worried about."

Iwaizumi knows that- he honestly does- but that doesn't stop his overactive imagination from conjuring up frightening scenarios, all ending in mortified silence or accidental injuries. If it'll make Oikawa happy, though, or keep him from whining in the days to come, Iwaizumi decides he should probably do it anyway. Only the resilient survive on alien planets. He's resilient, right?

He breathes in and acquaints himself with the space between the attack line and net, glancing once more at his feet before assuming position. He thinks back to Oikawa's form, to Bokuto's, Lev's, and, of course, Hinata's.

Oikawa clears his throat and that's Iwaizumi's cue. He takes the leap- literally. With three swift strides forward, he moves, trusting his legs to carry him toward his destination in the proper fashion. And, by some miracle, they do.

There's more squeaking when he lands than when Oikawa did, but he feels surprisingly confident about his footwork. He tries not to let it show, though; the last time he felt confident in his efforts, he was ridiculed and laughed at.

"Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi is immensely happy that he hid his excitement because he doesn't know what the hell to make of Oikawa's tone. He tries to ignore the irrational urge to cover his face and slowly turns.

"What now?"

"Are you… are you sure you've never played before?" Oikawa's reaction is easier to interpret now, but it does nothing to settle Iwaizumi's nerves. He almost sounds scared.

"Of course I'm sure, dumbass," Iwaizumi growls, "This is the first time I've ever set foot on a volleyball court."

Oikawa fixes Iwaizumi with that intense gaze of his, the very same one from the first time they met, but doesn't question him further. "Alright… Well, you don't seem to need any extra help with the approach. So do you want me to set you up? With an actual ball?"

Iwaizumi readily accepts because why not?

A half an hour and several ball carts worth of spikes later, Iwaizumi's body is practically begging him to stop and give it a chance to relax. He tells Oikawa so, and, although, as a young athlete, he seems like he could easily go for another hour or two, he agrees to call it quits for the night.

Iwaizumi sits heavily on the floor and lays back, staring up at the fluorescent lighting overhead. His lungs burn from exertion and his limbs ache but not in a bad way. Adrenaline continues to pump through his spent body. Sweat slickens his skin, gathering on his forehead, the crooks of his elbows, his chest and small of his back. It's the weirdest feeling, but he's starting to understand the appeal of sports the longer he lies there.

"I know this may sound crazy, but you should think about trying out for the team, Iwa-chan," Oikawa comments, stretching out beside Iwaizumi. They're less than an arm length apart, and Iwaizumi's aware of every scant inch between them.

"You're right, it does sound crazy."

"So? You're a fast learner," Oikawa says, rolling over onto his side to face Iwaizumi, "And I'm the captain so I could always ask the coach. He couldn't come to practice tonight, but the next time I see him-"

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi warns. He's not sure, though, if he's referring to Oikawa's rash decision to get him on the team or whether it has more to do with their proximity. Possibly both.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"The coach says no," Iwaizumi replies, casually trying to scoot over so that Oikawa's not so damned close.

"Exactly! There could be a lot worse." As if he's only just realized their nearness, Oikawa inches back a little, a light flush dusting his cheeks. "And I'm sure the rest of the team will love you!"

Iwaizumi groans. There's just no stopping Oikawa when he's on a roll. "I can't believe you."

"I get that a lot," Oikawa giggles. He cocks his head to the side, lips quirked in small satisfied smirk. "It's settled then. I'll talk to our coach tomorrow and see what he says."

Iwaizumi's tired and sore and opts for silence instead of an intelligible response. The second stage is nearly complete, and, as ridiculous as it may seem, joining Oikawa's team would bring him one step closer to finishing stage two and initiating the notorious stage three.


	3. glimpsing the past

**Author's Note:** BIG shout out to my two lovely betas, kristi and my crazy ass sister, and everyone who continues to read this and encourage me to keep going. you know who you are! and thanks for all the favorites, follows, etc! I hope you all enjoy this glimpse into oikawa's childhood and iwaizumi's usual dorky antics

* * *

The first snowfall of the year comes quietly, bringing with it an inch or two of soft and fluffy white flakes, just as it should.

As much as he may loathe the cold, Oikawa _loves_ snow. Especially harmless flurries that transform the campus into something far more beautiful and scenic, flakes clinging to the sidewalk, to buildings, to cars, to blades of grass and tree branches, as if, even dead, they've suddenly sprouted thousands of tiny white flowers.

Oikawa steps out, into the picturesque winter morning, and eagerly lifts his head to the sky, tilting it back and immediately opening his mouth to catch any nearby drifting flakes and let them melt on his tongue. They don't have a flavor, of course, but he's been doing it ever since he was a child, when his mother would tease that they tasted like ice cream. Once she'd convinced him that it carried the delicious taste of vanilla, he'd taken it upon himself to catch as many as he could. Sometimes, he and Kuroo went so far as to make a competition out of it. Kageyama, naturally, has always chosen not to participate.

While passing the bus stop, two girls take notice of Oikawa's game of snowflake catching and join in. They twirl in little circles, arms outstretched, flashing Oikawa secretive smiles, as if they're also privy to tasting the snow's hidden flavor, before turning and making their way down the sidewalk once again.

Amazing, how winter seems to bring out a person's inner child.

During the brief time he waits on the curb, Oikawa manages to catch several flakes. Around twenty or so- yes, he kept track -land on his tongue, which isn't too bad but certainly has nothing on his current record of one hundred and thirty. And Kuroo's record of one hundred and thirty-two, the bastard.

Oikawa starts to shiver, as if his body only just realized it's _freezing_ outside, and buries his face in the plush blue scarf looped around his neck. Thankfully, the bus arrives seconds later.

His earphones sit snugly in his ears, as they always do, and he softly hums the tune to an old pop song, one of his favorites, under his breath. It's about aliens, more specifically about a girl who falls in love with one, which is probably- okay, it _is_ -the main reason he likes it so much. Oikawa fawned over it for weeks when it first came out, and, needless to say, his friends weren't the least bit surprised.

The tune carries him all the way from the bus to the classroom. For some odd reason, Oikawa feels more refreshed today. His body doesn't seem quite as heavy, limbs moving with ease regardless of the hard work they were put through the previous night at practice.

Even Kageyama had noticed. _Kageyama._ Still bleary and half-asleep, he had mentioned it earlier that morning as Oikawa skipped out the door, laughing at the noticeable jump in Oikawa's step.

 _Is all of this… this energy… is it because of Iwa-chan?_

He isn't quite sure but he can't think of anything else that's happened recently worthy of such a drastic change in his demeanor. The last time Oikawa remembers feeling like this, Kuroo and Kageyama were stretched out on his bedroom floor, celebrating their university acceptance letters. For weeks, they'd worried over whether all of them would be accepted; and when their acceptances finally arrived, the overwhelming relief, the realization that their plan may actually work out, had them cheering and dancing around Oikawa's room for about thirty minutes straight without stopping.

But being accepted into college and meeting a mysterious new person in your calculus class are two completely different things.

Iwaizumi's interesting; he's unique and quirky and nothing at all like the other students Oikawa's encountered in the last few months. And, although it makes no sense to Oikawa whatsoever, he feels comfortable around Iwaizumi- as if he's known him for years. The assortment of athletic shirts he wears even though he's never played on a sports team a day in his life, the way his brows set when he works on a challenging math problem, the faint smell of fresh cut grass that lingers on his skin- it reminds Oikawa of the nights he set up his telescope in the backyard at home to look for UFO's.

It's scary, really. Scary because he has no clue why Iwaizumi feels so familiar. And absolutely _terrifying_ because Oikawa's not concerned about the whole thing half as much as he should be.

Oikawa tries to focus on humming once again, to drown out the unsettling sensation that follows _that_ particular thought.

Thankfully, the bus pulls to a stop before he can worry over he and Iwaizumi's sudden closeness for any longer. He steps off and trudges into the building. He yawns, longing for his bed and a couple more hours of sleep, and opens the classroom door, slipping quietly inside. Iwaizumi's already there, in his usual seat, but-

No one else is there.

Oikawa can't believe it. He's a fool, an Iwaizumi-obsessed fool. His stupid one-track mind betrayed him. The second Iwaizumi glances in his direction, Oikawa burns with embarrassment. _I don't have this class on Wednesday's._

"Oikawa? What's wrong, dumbass? You look like you've sprung a leak," Iwaizumi teases. His notebook sits proudly on his desk, already open and ready to be scribbled in. Oikawa grudgingly notes that the dumb pencil has made a guest appearance again.

"We don't have this class today."

Iwaizumi's brow furrows. He suddenly doesn't look quite as pleased with himself. "What?"

"It's Wednesday. We don't have class on Wednesday's, Iwa-chan," Oikawa reiterates.

"Oh… oh, yeah that's right." Iwaizumi laughs, but it sounds a bit off. He bows his head, oddly reminiscent of a disobedient child caught red-handed with his chubby little fingers in the cookie jar. "I forgot."

Oikawa wants to scold Iwaizumi, tease him for his carelessness, but he's there, too, so he has no room to talk. Iwaizumi's clever and won't pass up the opportunity to call Oikawa out on his bullshit. So Oikawa does the wise thing and keeps his mouth shut.

"Putting together my schedule for the semester was a total pain in the ass. I might have, uh, mixed certain classes up or something," Iwaizumi blurts, quickly jumping to his feet. He's obviously rushing and nearly spills all of his backpack's contents in the process, almost sending his notebook and _that_ pencil flying. Oikawa watches the whole thing intently without saying a word and wishes he'd brought some popcorn along for the show.

"I see," Oikawa says, employing his best mock serious tone.

"You're here, too. Why the hell are you picking on me?"

"I didn't say anything, Iwa-chan."

"Yeah, but… you were definitely thinking something nasty. I can tell." Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, shrugging on his backpack. "It's written all over that smug face of yours."

Oikawa gasps, exaggerating the gesture as much as possible. "I would _never_. How dare you accuse me of such a treacherous act, Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi's practically _begging_ to be teased when he gets all frazzled like this. And Oikawa can't help but seize the opportunity to push Iwaizumi's buttons, taking pride in all of his taunts.

"Anyway, since you're here," Oikawa says with a shrug, "Do you want to come over to my place? I don't have class until four."

Iwaizumi glances at the door but doesn't move. "Well, I…"

"That is," Oikawa interjects, "if you actually know your schedule for the rest of the day? Iwa-chan doesn't appear to know where he's supposed to be."

"S-shut up! I know exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"Oh? And where's that?" Oikawa grins. Iwaizumi's shoulders tense, marking the grand return of Porcupine Iwa, and Oikawa can't help but love every second of it. Again, he muses, _if Iwa-chan doesn't want to be teased, he should stop being so cute when he's flustered._

"Nowhere…" he mumbles.

"No more classes today, how nice," Oikawa coos.

"I had chemistry earlier." Iwaizumi's nose twitches, fingers tensing around his backpack strap.

"That's no fun."

"No, it sure as hell isn't."

Oikawa gestures at the door, right behind him. "So… if you're done…?"

"You want to go back to your place?" Iwaizumi replies, a slight tremor in his voice.

Oikawa wonders if he's nervous about setting foot in the dorms, considering the fact that the apartment he shares with his _generous_ friend is probably far more luxurious. Any place with an individual bathroom and separate bedrooms would seem like the Taj Mahal in comparison.

"Sure, why not? Tobio-chan won't be there to annoy us, and it's a lot better than walking around campus until Economics." He doesn't actually know whether Kageyama will be gone but chooses not to mention that to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi's not quite as standoffish as before, when Oikawa first asked. He's settled considerably, shoulders visibly relaxing, hands dropping to his sides. As a matter of fact, if Oikawa looks at just the right angle, the beginnings of a smile almost appear to be taking shape on his lips.

Another victory for Oikawa, possibly?

Oikawa gets in one more dig- because why the hell not- but Iwaizumi's snappy retort doesn't have the same bite as usual. Still, Oikawa acts as if it's the nastiest thing he's ever heard in his life, trailing behind a much happier Iwaizumi as they make their way out to the bus stop.

* * *

This is the first time Iwaizumi _hasn't_ been surprised by something related to Oikawa.

He and Kageyama's room practically screams volleyball. Every inch of available wall space is taken up by volleyball posters or some sort of movie or television series poster that Iwaizumi doesn't recognize. A couple lone balls are stowed away in their shared closet with a few more sitting idly in the space between their beds. And each side (because Oikawa and Kageyama have made it clear there are separate sides) has its own set of drawers and a desk.

He never would've expected Kageyama's drawers to be neater than Oikawa's, what with the way Oikawa talks about "lazy little Tobio-chan," but, when he glances at Oikawa's drawers, there's no mistaking it. A shirt or two pokes out from the bottom drawer, as if they'd been hastily shoved into place, while Kageyama's looks… well, it's spotless, really. Not a single thing is out of place.

The difference in desk cleanliness is basically about the same. Oikawa's workspace doesn't appear any neater than his drawers. An imposing stack of notebooks and books are pushed up against his chest of drawers', next to a printer and what can only be Oikawa's laptop, covered in assorted stickers ranging from the school's emblem to a volleyball to a green misshapen head that Iwaizumi's almost certain is supposed to be a…

No. _No._ He's being paranoid.

"Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi stills but successfully manages to play it off, as if he hasn't just had a minor freak out about a fucking sticker, of all things. "Yeah?"

"My bed doesn't bite, you know," Oikawa teases, "Go ahead and sit down."

His words are meant to soothe but have the opposite effect. Iwaizumi doesn't know what he was thinking, agreeing to come here like this. Their calculus class is the longest Iwaizumi's ever been around humans without Daichi by his side, and he sure as hell hasn't been stuck alone, in a confined space for an extended period of time, with one. What are they supposed to do for the next few hours? There's no way they'll spend all that time talking. Of course, it _is_ Oikawa so who knows.

"Sure," he mumbles awkwardly and perches himself on the edge of Oikawa's bed. He hadn't noticed the sheets when he first walked in, but now he can't take his eyes off of them. It's adorned with more of those bulbous heads and tiny… fuck, are those planets?

"Ah, let's see," Oikawa says, stepping over to his desk, "We certainly have a lot of choices here. I pretty much have all of the lines memorized so it's more of a matter of what _you_ want to watch, Iwa-chan." He turns back to Iwaizumi, using his hip for leverage as he leans against his creaky desk chair. "Preferences?"

"Oh, um, I don't know. I'm not much of a movie person, to be honest." He really isn't. His people don't have a flourishing movie franchise. Or, well, a movie franchise in general.

"Goodness," Oikawa sighs, shaking his head, "You need to learn to expand your horizons."

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. "Can't we do something else instead? Like… I don't know."

 _Come on, dumbass,_ think. Iwaizumi knows to tread lightly. Oikawa's a human being, after all. A human being that absolutely _can't_ find out about his true identity.

"We could just… talk?"

"Talk," Oikawa deadpans.

 _Brilliant, just brilliant._ Of course there's no risk of disclosing important information during a conversation. Iwaizumi wants to bury himself ten feet under the ground for being such an idiot.

"Yeah like…"

"Don't think too hard, Iwa-chan, you might hurt yourself." Oikawa grins as if it's the funniest thing in the world. Which it definitely isn't.

"Hey, watch it!" Iwaizumi feels his cheeks reddening. "I was trying to say that we should take this time to… get to know each other better?"

Surprisingly, Oikawa doesn't shoot another insult his way. From where Iwaizumi's sitting, he's almost certain he sees an enormous ship and the Milky Way galaxy on the cover of the nearest DVD case. Oikawa freezes, hand poised over the extensive collection Iwaizumi couldn't believe he didn't see sooner, and glances over his shoulder, expression neutral. "Really?"

"Well, yeah, we've only known each other for a couple days." Iwaizumi shrugs, suddenly feeling embarrassed and very small under Oikawa's scrutinizing gaze. "It'd be nice to get to know you better. Like maybe something about volleyball. Since you're so into it and everything."

Before Iwaizumi can say another word, Oikawa's there, _right_ there, practically throwing himself onto his bed. Iwaizumi's lucky enough to avoid the jumble of flopping limbs that comes crashing right into his personal space.

It's the reaction he hoped for, but, damn, Oikawa looks downright thrilled by Iwaizumi's idea. Like a lazy cat, he stretches out on the bed, resting on his stomach, elbows bent with his face resting in his palms. Iwaizumi's seen him smile before but not like _this_.

"Iwa-chan's interested in my volleyball career? I must say, I'm a little surprised."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Iwaizumi bites back defensively.

"I'm teasing you," Oikawa replies lightly. He bends his legs, kicking his feet idly. "You take me too seriously sometimes, Iwa-chan."

"Dumbass, it's not like I've known you all my life or something."

Oikawa's legs suddenly stop moving. His lips purse, as if something about the comment doesn't sit well with him. _Weird._ "Ah, good point," Oikawa agrees, his entire expression quickly shifting.

The easy atmosphere quickly dissipates without warning, and the two are left to deal with an uncomfortable silence the likes of which Iwaizumi's almost certain he's never had to deal with before. Smoothing things over really isn't his forte either so he just… sits there, trying not to stare at Oikawa, silently hoping he'll be the one to fix this strained situation.

To his relief, Oikawa does just that.

"So, volleyball?" Oikawa finally asks, lazily, seeming to savor the word.

"Uh, yeah," Iwaizumi replies uncertainly, "Volleyball."

Oikawa's smile widens, eyes bright and expressive. "Well, I guess it all started when I saw my first game…"

* * *

Oikawa's only six years old, very impressionable and very fascinated by the world around him, when he sees his first volleyball match.

Wide-eyed, gaping at the television screen in his family's living room, he can't bring himself to look away. Players dart across the court, quick on their feet, every movement fluid and carefully calculated. The game play appears to be ingrained in their bodies, and Oikawa's totally entranced.

The flashy hitters catch his attention first. Unlike the defensive players, their actions are explosive, powerful, bodies leaping into the air as their arm swings, slamming the ball down. There's something graceful about the way they move, especially their footwork, and Oikawa briefly pictures himself in their shoes. It's certainly a nice image. The rest of the team would praise his attacks, an incredible burst of energy and enthusiasm spurring them on to score more points. The crowd shouts his name, choruses of "Let's go, Tooru!" echoing throughout the gym.

But, as he watches one of the wing spikers approach the net, Oikawa's gaze is drawn to the team's setter. His father had played as a kid so Oikawa knows about the positions and has a pretty good grasp of each player's designated job on the court. From what he remembers, setter's play a major role in controlling game play and can, essentially, make or break a team.

Before, he hadn't thought much of them. Their duties seem awfully boring. Why wouldn't someone set out to be a hitter? Why wouldn't you want to be the person who scored the most offensive points for the team? At the time, his thirst for attention was at its peak, and he'd happily accept any opportunity to be in the spotlight.

And yet… as the game unfolds, his attention slowly but surely turns from the attackers to the setter.

He's tall with legs that seem to stretch on forever and equally long arms, fingers wrapped in several layers of tape, sandy blond hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. The ball deflects off of the libero's forearms, sails in to the air, and briefly settles between his fingers before connecting with the waiting hitter's palm.

The footwork is different and definitely not as eye-catching, but Oikawa's still enraptured by the beautiful arc of the ball as it flies toward the spiker, the elegant bend of the setter's fingers and curve of his spine as he backsets to the wing spiker behind him. He receives every pass sent his way- or at least those that he can- and carefully monitors the ball's path, never once taking his eyes off it.

He's calm and collected and- at least to Oikawa- very cool.

 _Amazing… Setters are amazing!_ Oikawa excitedly scoots closer to the screen, disregarding his mother's angry pleas from the kitchen.

Right then and there, he sets out to become a setter. But not just any setter. He wants to become the mastermind of the team, the schemer, the player who knows their hitters like the back of their hand.

So, after playing volleyball for a couple years in elementary school, it doesn't come as much of a surprise when Oikawa decides to continue in middle school.

It's his third year, and, although he wished for better, his team emerges as the prefecture's runner-up, second only to the middle school that's consistently won for the past few years. He positively _detests_ the reigning champions' ace so the loss hurts even more than it normally would.

But, by some miracle, a surreal moment quite like something from his recent dreams, Oikawa's awarded the "Best Setter" award. His fingers tremble, his legs momentarily forget how to move, and, to his embarrassment, he nearly drops the plaque when the announcer hands it over.

He peers down in amazement at the glistening surface. This is what he's wanted. _This_ is what he's been hoping to get his hands on from the moment he first set foot on a volleyball court, from the moment he settled in front of his television screen and watched his first match.

His teammates cry over their loss, and Oikawa's tears flow freely, too, but he can't bring himself to completely break down the way he might've if not for the plaque clutched to his chest. He's not leaving the stadium empty-handed. Plus, he knows that his team fought hard and has nothing to be ashamed of.

The following summer, as it always seems to, flies by. Oikawa doesn't remember much, but he's almost certain there was a sand court, a group of local boys, and an innocent outdoor volleyball that took quite a beating.

But, before he knows it, the sweltering heat gives way to cooler weather, and high school swallows him whole. He joins the school team as soon as possible and eagerly accepts the setter position.

A couple weeks of practice later, and things seem normal enough. That is, until the first match. That's when things get… interesting.

His name is spoken in whispers, a name that Oikawa vaguely recalls hearing tossed around even in middle school. "A prodigy," they call him. "A genius." "The King of the Court."

Of course, he doesn't remember competing against a player of this caliber before. And he'd definitely recognize someone like that. Another formidable setter? In the same prefecture? Although they've never actually met, they might as well be rivals already.

And, during that match, the first of Oikawa's high school career, they finally _do_ meet.

It's only a scrimmage, but Oikawa senses Kageyama Tobio's presence almost instantly. He walks by Oikawa's team as they warm up, spares them nothing more than a passing glance, and takes his place near the net as he, too, begins to stretch.

Oikawa feels himself staring, but there's just something about this "genius." It's as if he's been _made_ to stand on the court, as if he were designed specifically for the setter position. The thought's incredibly unsettling- especially because it crosses Oikawa's mind before he's even seen Kageyama play.

Usually, he tells his intuition to piss off. But not this time. He should fear this player; he's right to be worried. Oikawa's always loved to play, but Kageyama's arrival excites him in an entirely new way, urges him to compete, to play to his full potential.

His mind drifts to the reigning champions in middle school. Was that the same? No… somehow, this is different. Kageyama's his own unique threat. And Oikawa can't wait to crush him.

The game, just like the scorching heat of summer, seems to fly by right before Oikawa's eyes. One moment, he's setting up a quick for his middle blocker and, the next, he's trapped in the huddle as his team celebrates their win.

It's not a landslide of a win. The point difference in all three sets ranges from a measly two points in the first to a more staggering (and yet still miniscule) five in the final set. The closeness shows how evenly matched they were and makes their victory all the more satisfying.

Oikawa's practically giddy when he reaches for Kageyama's hand. He wants to shake the King's hand. He wants to scare him, to prove his worth and teach this bratty competitor what it really means to be a winning team's setter.

"Good game," Oikawa trills, shaking Kageyama's hand. His palms are sweaty, fingers long, grip strong. Oikawa expected no less.

But it's not the handshake of an arrogant King.

"Good game," Kageyama echoes and pulls his hand back.

Oikawa's left gaping at the space Kageyama had previously filled. It doesn't make sense. He's supposed to embody a heartless dictator. He's supposed to treat his other players like meager peasants. By no means whatsoever is he supposed to accept defeat this easily.

It's frustrating- _infuriating-_ and Oikawa spends the next few weeks practicing harder.

The next time they face off, Oikawa's sure that he'll see the wicked, selfish side of Kageyama people spoke of in the past. He'll have a legitimate reason to dislike him, a reason other than his own fear. But that's not the case at all. Not even close.

As a matter of fact, it's worse than he could've ever anticipated.

Sunshine, that's the first thing that comes to mind when Oikawa sees the new middle blocker. The second is that he's positively annoying, almost as much as Kageyama, and that, also like the stubborn child prodigy, he's the kind of person Oikawa feels compelled to crush.

With thick orange hair and wide golden eyes like that of a baby crow, he's jumpy and quick and, unfortunately, seems to possess an unlimited supply of stamina. It's as if he could play for hours and hours on end without getting tired. Terrifying… just as scary as Kageyama.

And, because Oikawa obviously has the worst luck in the world, things don't get any better from that point on.

Kageyama's team has always been solid. Their defense is reliable, their offense is aggressive- they truly have the makings of a successful team. A year or two of playing together will likely do wonders for them.

Then, only a few minutes after game play has begun, it happens. Yes- _it_.

The libero, an exceptional player, passes the ball up to Kageyama. Oikawa expects him to set the outside hitter, a much stronger attacker than the tiny middle blocker, and urges the blockers to get into position.

But Kageyama- _stupid little genius Kageyama_ \- sets a quick toss to the middle instead. The little fiery hitter comes out of nowhere, leaping into the air and spiking the ball straight down, directly into the center of the opposite court. Oikawa's side of the court.

Slowly, Oikawa turns, eyes wide and bulging out of his skull. He's seen a lot of unbelievable things, volleyball or not. He's watched his friend Kuroo pull off the kind of things teenage boys _dream_ of. Like the time he raided his parents' alcohol cabinet and dragged Oikawa and several other volleyball players to their own "party" since they hadn't been invited to the one down the street. Or the time he helped rescue a cat from a tree, receiving gifts in return from several women in the neighborhood who now adore him and see him as some sort of young feline hero.

Nothing, not even Kuroo's uncanny ability to accomplish the unexpected, can compare to this middle blocker's agility, to the graceful way he contacts the ball and sends it smashing down, down, right between two defensive players. Neither of them, experienced as they are, have the chance to react and stand gaping at the ball, just like Oikawa and every other player on their side of the net. Even the spectators go silent.

A few seconds of stunned silence later, Kageyama's team explodes with sound and movement, surrounding Kageyama and the surprisingly formidable middle hitter, drowning them in praise and encouraging pats on the back.

Oikawa scowls in their direction. Meanwhile, the rest of his team attempts to recover from their shock, shooting confused glances at each other, and, of course, at Oikawa. He's the captain so they expect him to explain this ridiculous situation. Which- lucky him- he has absolutely no semblance of an explanation for in the first place.

Who _was_ this guy? Where the hell had he come from?

Sadly, Oikawa loses to Kageyama and this new volleyball monstrosity who he'll later come to know as Hinata Shouyou or- as he likes to call him- Chibi-chan.

A couple years later and both Oikawa and Kageyama are both nearing the end of their high school careers. As crazy as it may sound, they've somehow gone from childish bickering and name calling their first year to civilized conversations. Or at least as close to that as two people in their situation can get.

It's weird and doesn't really settle well with Oikawa, but he chooses to accept the odd friendship they've formed, likely the result of years of volleyball camps, competitive matches, and random meetups. He's seen more of Kageyama than he would've cared to had someone asked him when he began his career as a high school athlete.

But, in a strange way, Kageyama's sort of grown on Oikawa. They certainly don't have the same relationship as he and Kuroo, who lived next door to each other since before elementary school. And yet this twisted love-hate relationship with Kageyama still works, this ebb and flow of rage and pride, even if it makes little to no sense. Oikawa himself doesn't understand how they've managed to stick together for this long.

There's no point in worrying over it, though; it is what it is, he supposes.

It's a warm day when they decide to meet. The sun hangs high in the midday sky, shining with dazzling clarity. Summer is right around the corner, looming over every student's head. It calls to them in the late hours of the night through the cicadas and locusts, through the toads, through the heat soaking into everyone's skin during the day.

Oikawa craves summer almost as much as he craves feeling a volleyball in his hand. Which, strangely enough, is another thing Oikawa apparently has in common with Kageyama.

"Remember what Kuroo said the other day?" Kageyama drawls, and, for once, is the first to speak.

"About next year? Of course I remember, Tobio-chan." Oikawa's popsicle is beginning to melt, the sticky blue syrupy substance gliding down the stick and over his fingers. He glares angrily at it. "He wants to get an apartment."

"But your mom won't let you do that."

"Well… no, I know that. She wants me to live in one of the _dorms_." At this, Oikawa shudders. And not because of the popsicle.

"So does mine. At least that's what she said the last time she actually came home," Kageyama mumbles. His own icy treat- an ice cream cone- doesn't seem to be making quite as much of a mess.

"Looks like we're in the same boat then, Tobio-chan. Why do you look so glum? You get to room with me!"

Kageyama leers at Oikawa- actually _leers_ at him. "I thought I'd be able to room with…" He stops midway through the sentence, face scrunching up.

"With?" Oikawa encourages.

"Sh… Shouyou."

 _Ah_. So that's what it is. Now Kageyama's pouting made a lot more sense.

"Oh, Tobio-chan, I'm sure you can still room together."

"That's the thing." Kageyama charges on undeterred. "I think it'll be better if I don't room with him. Not yet."

Oikawa blinks. Had he heard that right? "I don't think I follow."

"Isn't it true that you can get tired of someone if you live together too soon after you… you know."

"No, I don't believe I do." Oikawa honestly has no idea what the hell Kageyama's getting at.

"After you get together." He hesitates. "And stuff."

Oikawa can't help the little giggle that slips out. "'Stuff,' Tobio-chan? Don't you just mean dating?"

"It's not like that," Kageyama quickly adds. "We're not like that. It's weird. You probably wouldn't get it."

 _He has a point_ , Oikawa muses. He rarely understands what's going on between those two. "If you say so," Oikawa sighs. He doesn't have time to delve into Kageyama's personal life. He has enough trouble with his own.

"So, what you're saying," Oikawa wonders, "is that you want to room with _me_ because you already know I drive you insane?"

At first, Oikawa thinks Kageyama may deny the accusation. He seems thoughtful, turning the question over in his mind for a few seconds, before responding, the closest thing to a wicked grin quirking up the edges of his lips.

"Yeah, basically."

* * *

If there's one thing Iwaizumi has learned so far since coming to Earth, it's that he doesn't like feelings.

Not that he didn't like hearing about Oikawa's childhood or about how he got into volleyball; quite the opposite, actually.

What he _doesn't_ like is the ache in his chest, the yearning, the desire to be a part of Oikawa's story, like Kuroo and Kageyama. He doesn't like being jealous of others, especially two people he barely knows, and he definitely doesn't like the sense that something's missing from the story- something important. And, as if all of that weren't bad enough, he has the strangest and most irrational fear that not even Oikawa himself knows what's missing from his brief excerpt from the _The Life and Times of Oikawa Tooru._

 _What the hell?_

Iwaizumi needs alcohol, a strong, knock you flat on your ass drink. He's so glad humans created a beverage to momentarily numb your pain and dull your senses. The idea of sitting in his apartment, alone, drinking all of his worries away, seems awfully tempting at the moment.

If he could just make heads and tails of these random floods of uncertainty and confusion, he wouldn't feel like this- like shit. This is exactly why his people don't fuck with emotions. _Way_ too much trouble. Unnecessary trouble.

Suddenly, Iwaizumi remembers that he's not actually in his fantasy world, alone with a glass of scotch or even a nice cold beer. He's in Oikawa's dorm room. Sitting right next to him- on his bed. And the person in question is staring at him like he's gone insane.

"Iwa-chan? Are you okay?"

 _Quick, you have to come up with something quick, dumbass_. Frantic, Iwaizumi scans the wall he'd been absentmindedly staring at. There, right above both Oikawa and Kageyama's chests of drawers, is a poster.

"Uh, yeah," he manages to respond, "just wondering whose poster that is."

Oikawa quirks his eyebrows, clearly skeptical, but turns anyway. He follows the direction of Iwaizumi's gaze and, once spotting his target, grins. "Mine, of course. It's from one of the old _Star Wars_ movies."

Iwaizumi stills. _Wait_ …

"What's that about?"

Oikawa's jaw drops. It's melodramatic and so very Oikawa. If Iwaizumi weren't freaking out, he'd probably find it kind of endearing. "What's _Star Wars_? Oh, Iwa-chan, it's only one of the greatest science fiction franchises of the twentieth century!"

Iwaizumi tries not to bolt right then and there. _Fucking Oikawa._ He's screwed. Why- _why_ \- did it have to be science fiction?

"The movies are _amazing_. There's aliens and action and science and- you need to watch it, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa gushes. The mattress bounces beneath them as Oikawa speaks.

He keeps going, too, but Iwaizumi stops listening the second the word "alien" passes Oikawa's lips.

 _Don't panic_. _Don't fucking panic._

Aliens- really? What would Oikawa say if he knew Iwaizumi were one? What would Oikawa say if he knew Iwaizumi had chosen him to be his Subject? What would Oikawa _do_?

 _You need to get the hell out of here_. It kind of sounds like Diachi's voice, which is totally, absolutely, normal and not weird at all.

He should've known when he saw those damned stickers on Oikawa's laptop, when he noticed his bed sheets, and the extensive collection of science fiction posters lining the walls and movies stacked on the shelves above Oikawa's desk. How could he have been so careless?

Iwaizumi's lungs seem to collapse, every new breath suddenly much harder to draw than the last. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, and the room's tilting, spinning, like he's already indulged in the alcohol he'd been fantasizing about earlier.

"Oh, shit," Iwaizumi blurts, abruptly jumping to his feet. "I just remembered." He smacks his forehead for emphasis. "I'm such a dumbass. I _do_ have another class today."

Oikawa stares up at him, still gaping. "Iwa- you do?"

"Yep. Totally forgot. Probably because I can't keep track of a schedule to save my life. Right?" He chuckles weakly. Oikawa, sadly, doesn't find it funny.

"Oh…" Oikawa's voice is little more than a whisper.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Iwaizumi says. He grips the door knob in hopes that it'll ground him. And that it'll help force him out the door before Oikawa manages to convince him to stay.

But apparently there's no need.

Instantly, Oikawa transforms right before Iwaizumi's very eyes. The dejected college student becomes the exuberant dreamer, the vibrant young star, almost immediately. The grimace becomes a grin (but it doesn't quite reach his eyes), the slumped shoulders raise (definitely forced), and the hand lying in his lap raises, fingers unfurling to offer Iwaizumi a wave (his hand appears to tremble).

For once, Iwaizumi wishes he were more oblivious, that he didn't notice _everything_.

"Bye, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa chimes, but, to Iwaizumi's ears at least, it's lifeless and cold, rough around the edges.

Grudgingly, Iwaizumi waves back and slips out of the room. And, as much as he wants to, he doesn't look back.

Thankfully, he knows where he needs to go.

 _Daichi will know what to do._


	4. the two week lull

**Author's Note:** here's chapter 4! this chapter is kind of a filler chapter of sorts. but there's a lot of important information! especially regarding the aliens. there's also some more Kageyama and some dorky volleyball players and, for the first time, some Daichi POV (aka the last scene)

yet again, I'd like to thank my fabulous beta's for always looking my work over and thank my readers who have stuck around even though real life likes to keep me from consistently posting chapters. you all are the best, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Aliens? Really?"

Iwaizumi stalks past the couch for what's probably the hundredth time that night. The barely audible squeak of his shoes on the hardwood floors fill the otherwise silent room. Silent only because, surprisingly enough, Daichi hasn't said a single word since the whole pacing thing begun. Mentors are usually known for being overly opinionated, outspoken to the point of annoying the absolute _shit_ out of anyone that's stuck with them. Daichi's no exception.

"I can't believe this!" Iwaizumi carries on.

Silence.

"This is ridiculous!" Iwaizumi passes the coffee table again, and Daichi nods.

"I can't believe… why does it have to be fucking _aliens_ , of all things?"

Another nod.

"Why couldn't he just stick to volleyball? Why couldn't he like something normal? Like…" Iwaizumi pauses, eyes narrowing. "I don't even know. I feel like I'm going insane."

Daichi, attempting to act the part of the wise sage, says nothing and merely pats the empty space beside him on the couch. Iwaizumi falters, looking like he'd rather continue to pace for the next couple hours instead, but eventually concedes to sinking into the brown leather cushions.

"Are you done now?" Daichi asks, but it's more of a command than a question. More of a "that's enough" or maybe a harsher "be quiet and sit the hell down."Daichi's practically a pro at this by now; he knows how to handle Iwaizumi's bitching and moaning.

Instead of answering Daichi, Iwaizumi buries his face in his hands and slowly drags his fingers through his hair. He draws in a shuddering breath and settles even deeper into the couch, if at all possible. The room feels a lot warmer than it usually does, like every nearby light has decided to focus its unwelcome heat on him. Iwaizumi's skin itches, and he gets the strongest urge to stand back up and resume his pacing. If he's not moving, he worries that his body will cave in on itself and implode, turning him into a small-scale version of one of the supernovas he loves so much.

"I feel like I say this a lot but," Daichi starts carefully, "I think you're overreacting."

"I wish," Iwaizumi grumbles miserably, briefly closing his eyes. "I'm so screwed."

"And why's that?"

Iwaizumi hates when Daichi does this. He answers with another question instead of getting straight to the point. He dances around his argument as if it's some ferocious beast he worries may devour him if he gets too close too soon, like the scary brutes on distant rocky planets. Typical of Mentors, turning every conversation or piece of advice into a challenge or riddle.

Iwaizumi's hands drop heavily into his lap. "Because Oikawa's my best option. He's intelligent, athletic, dynamic, healthy… well, okay, he seems booksmart, and I _think_ he's healthy. I don't really know that last one for sure. I leave that shit to the Medics. But still-"

"Ah, so you don't want to consider a different Subject."

 _Wipe that smug look off your face_. Iwaizumi glances away. "No… no, Oikawa's the perfect Subject for this."

"For this? I think what you mean to say is that he's the perfect Subject for _you_."

Immediately, Iwaizumi turns on Daichi, eyes wide. "What?"

Daichi merely sighs, and Iwaizumi knows that he won't like what his Mentor has to say.

"I mean," Daichi continues, grudgingly, as if he hates the words just as much as Iwaizumi does, "that I think you're looking at this wrong way. I don't think it's a matter of whether Oikawa's the right Subject. It's more of an issue of you accepting the fact there are other people out there."

Iwaizumi purses his lips and regards Daichi suspiciously. "But finding another Subject that fits all the criteria… at this short notice… that's a gamble I don't think I'm willing to take."

"You have around ten thousand potential candidates to choose from, Hajime." Aggravation creeps into Daichi's voice. "I'm sure you'll find someone else."

"But what if-"

"There are always 'what if's.'" Daichi interjects. "You're trying to avoid the real issue here."

"Daichi…"

Iwaizumi and Daichi rarely ever fight. It's probably been a year since they last fought. And Iwaizumi knows for a fact it was over some ridiculousness that didn't actually matter in the grand scheme of things. As a matter of fact, none of the other passengers found it suspicious or weird when they returned to their normal routine a couple days later, as if nothing had happened.

So there's nothing to worry about. Iwaizumi knows better; they won't fight. Daichi absolutely hates conflict.

"Well, I suppose it's too late," Daichi mutters, cryptic as ever. He turns away as he says it, averting his gaze to the painting on the far wall, staring intently at the brushstrokes as if they hold the solutions to their problems.

"Please, not tonight, Daichi. I need your help." Iwaizumi feels the desperation seep into his voice, but he can't seem to stop it. He really is desperate. And Daichi's the only person he can turn to.

Daichi heaves a sigh heavier than the invisible weight bearing down on his shoulders. He quietly climbs to his feet, finally taking his eyes off the greens and blues of the room's only art piece, and glances at Iwaizumi.

"I know that you haven't known him long, Hajime," he intones, and, for the first time since they settled here on Earth, Iwaizumi notices the dark circles beneath Daichi's eyes. "But this isn't the only mission I've ever taken on. I've taught several people, just like you, and I know how this goes."

The room suddenly feels smaller, colder, nothing at all like the welcoming space Iwaizumi remembers from the sweet and softer morning hours.

"I said it's too late because it _is._ " Daichi hesitates. "You're already too attached."

As if on cue, Iwaizumi's "phone" vibrates in his pocket. He doesn't expect it, and the sudden sound nearly sends him jumping out of his own skin. Guiltily, he reaches into his jeans and pulls out the traitorous device.

He stares down at the displayed name for what feels like an eternity before he registers Daichi's voice.

"Oikawa?"

"Well…" Iwaizumi wants to scream. He doesn't even remember giving the pesky bastard his number. But, considering what Oikawa's number is saved under, Iwaizumi can only assume that he somehow got a hold of it while Iwaizumi was over at his dorm and added it without his newest "friend" knowing. Probably when he went to the bathroom. _Fucking Oikawa_.

 **To: Iwaizumi**

 **From: Oikawa aka Your Fave Person**

 _look who has your number now, iwa-chan_ (~￣▽￣)~

Why, just why, did he have to pick Oikawa again?

"Oh, Hajime." Daichi's response oozes with pity, like Iwaizumi's some helpless animal, the kind that can barely get from place to place because of a gimpy leg. He then has the audacity to _smile_ at Iwaizumi.

"It looks like you're stuck with him."

* * *

 _Two weeks._

Oikawa sets Kuroo a quick in the middle. It's a bit short, not quite synced with Kuroo's movements, but he hits it nevertheless, like the consistent hitter he's known for being.

 _Two weeks_.

That's how long it's been since that awful night, the night Iwaizumi came back to Oikawa's dorm and ended up running off early, offering a weak and completely unbelievable excuse about having class as he practically sprinted out the door.

The unfamiliar pain in Oikawa's chest nearly forced him to chase after Iwaizumi, but he quickly stifled it. Rather than potentially make a fool out of himself, Oikawa stayed sitting on his bed and drew his knees in against his chest, peering down at the distorted alien heads scattered across his blanket.

He'd never intended to scare Iwaizumi off. As a matter of fact, he'd hoped that Iwaizumi would see his collection and be the first to… well, it didn't matter. His wishful thinking had gotten him nowhere.

He hadn't expected Iwaizumi to talk to him again after everything that happened. Oikawa had anticipated the curt nods exchanged between old friends, the kind who had a sudden falling out and never managed to sort out the unspoken problems that had destroyed their relationship.

The day after, though, Iwaizumi amazed Oikawa by shooting a quick "hey" his way as he slipped into his usual seat. Oikawa stared and gaped and, okay, he probably should've said something back like, oh, "Hi" maybe, but words had totally escaped him. Worse yet, as class started, Oikawa couldn't help but notice that the conversations they exchanged were short-lived, a little awkward, as if the bizarre sense of familiarity Oikawa had felt around Iwaizumi had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. It was incredibly disconcerting and did a surprising number on Oikawa's ego.

And, although no one on Oikawa's team seems to have noticed yet, the tension between he and Iwaizumi has been affecting his playing.

Subtle differences, that's all they are. Like the intensity of his jump serves and the effectiveness of his tips. Like the height of his quick sets, a height that he's become quite accustomed to.

Long before Oikawa settled on the same college as Kuroo, back in middle school when they still grappled with gangly limbs and the newness of every technique, Oikawa had needed help with his sets and, with no one else to turn to, constantly dragged Kuroo down to the sand court at the end of the block to practice.

Many sets later and the height's basically ingrained in Oikawa's body. He doesn't even have to consciously think about it anymore.

"Back!" Kageyama calls. As the team's other setter, he has to practice hitting from the right side. On occasion, they may use him as an attacker depending on the plays they decide to run.

 _Two weeks_. The words echo in Oikawa's head.

Two weeks of stilted conversation, weak attempts at bickering, and uncomfortably brief chains of text messages, all spanning the entire fourteen day period. Fourteen long, _long_ days without any sort of progress. Their friendship had hit a wall of sorts. A tall, looming wall much like the block of the dreaded Date Tech from Oikawa's high school years.

But Oikawa's the setter, isn't he? He's supposed to help others get around that wall. What good is he if he can't do the same when his relationships encounter an obstacle?

He sets the ball back to Kageyama. He knows from experience that the other setter prefers it closer to the net, a shorter set but not as low as the quicks Oikawa normally sets to the middle.

The warm weight of the volleyball settles in his fingers for a few seconds and his spine curves, knees bending and extending, as he sends it to Kageyama. He doesn't have to turn to know that Kageyama effortlessly spikes the ball. It's in his nature as a prodigy. Oikawa struggles not to roll his eyes at the thought.

Kageyama lands softly, just as a hitter should, so Oikawa barely registers the sound of his feet touching solid ground once again. Once he detects the telltale squeak of Kageyama turning on his heel, Oikawa pivots to face him.

"Was that high enough? I'm always worried I set you too low, Tobio-chan." Oikawa flashes Kageyama one of his trademark grins, bright and cheery with a side of asshole- only if you squint, of course.

"Yeah, maybe a little lower." Kageyama shrugs.

Oikawa takes that as a "great job, you just keep doing you" and assumes his position, ready for the next pass from Yaku. But Kageyama, a man of very few words, isn't done yet.

"I'm actually more worried about your other sets," Kageyama continues, taking a step closer. Sweat slicks his forehead and droplets cling eagerly to the greasy strands plastered to his face. Oikawa reluctantly notes that it still doesn't make him look any less attractive. "The middle sets, especially for Lev, are off. So are your sets to the outside."

"Oh? Is that so?"

"He has a point, you know," Lev interjects.

Oikawa's head whips around so fast that he's surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "What?"

In typical Lev fashion, he flushes, embarrassed for a grand total of maybe ten seconds, before he schools his features, trying to appear as nonchalant about the whole thing as possible. "It's nothing. You're probably just tired since you're getting back into the swing of things, getting up early for class and all that fun stuff."

Lev's argument, oddly enough, makes a lot of sense. Sadly, Oikawa knows it's not the only reason his playing's been off. He chooses to keep that information to himself, though.

"Ah, probably so, Haiba-chan." Oikawa clenches his jaw, struggling to maintain his smile. And Lev, in all of his naïve glory, buys it.

"Yeah, see? You'll be fine," Lev chimes, clearly proud of himself, "I wouldn't worry about it, Kageyama-kun."

Yaku meets Oikawa's gaze through the net. They're not all that close, considering they only just met the previous semester, but Yaku's big, round eyes still seem to know everything, whether you say it out loud or not, whether you want him to or not.

As if reading Oikawa's mind, Yaku reaches for Lev's arm and grumbles something about "lanky idiot" before dragging him away. _This_ is precisely why everyone loves Yaku Morisuke. Oikawa restrains himself from hugging the little guy- mostly because he values his life too much.

Kageyama also has yet to take his eyes off of Oikawa. Those wide, blue eyes stare into Oikawa's soul, scrutinizing and studying Oikawa's every move.

But Kageyama keeps his mouth shut and practice carries on as usual.

Well, that is until everything's over, and their coach makes a beeline for Oikawa.

 _Shit._ He knows what the coach will ask before the words even leave his mouth: why hadn't Iwaizumi showed up to his first private session?

That's the deal Oikawa and the coach had devised. Considering Iwaizumi's apparent affinity for the sport and incredible ability to pick up new skills in little to no time at all, the coach had been happy to give him a chance. After careful consideration, he'd agreed to offer Iwaizumi a position on the team as long as he trained with Oikawa twice a week in the weeks leading up to their first scrimmage. As long as he showed improvement and ended up clicking with the rest of the team, of course.

Oikawa had been absolutely _thrilled_ by the agreement. This meant he would be able to spend even more time with Iwazumi. More than just an hour a day in class, more than a few extra hours here and there whenever their schedules matched up. The more Iwaizumi, the merrier.

"Ah, about that," Oikawa replies cheerily, hoping to mask his anxiety, "Iwaizumi-kun told me he was sick and wouldn't be able to make it."

"Really?" Their coach doesn't seem to believe it. "He didn't show up to the first practice because he was sick?"

"That happens a lot this time of year, Coach. A lot of the students catch things and then spread it around when they come to class."

"Yeah… yeah, I guess you're right. As long as he comes to the next one, it's fine." Their coach smiles but it's clearly strained, as if he's just tasted a lemon or accidentally swallowed one of Lev's favorite sour candies.

"Of course!" Oikawa bows slightly at the waist. "You have my word."

Their coach snorts, mumbling something about "this kid" under his breath, before offering his thanks and stalking off in the direction of the players taking down the net.

Oikawa slowly straightens back up again. He breathes out a sigh of relief, eternally thankful for his acting skills. He feels bad about lying to their coach point blank like that, but there's no way in hell he's going to tell him the truth.

 _Oh, well, you see, Iwaizumi-kun and I had a really uncomfortable encounter the other night in my dorm, and I think he chickened out and decided not to show because he didn't want to see me._ Yes because of course that story would go over well.

One by one, the rest of the team files out of the gym, bags slung over their shoulders, jackets pulled tight around them, chuckling about whatever shenanigans their friends had managed to get themselves into that day.

Oikawa usually walks back to the bus stop after practice with Kageyama at his side. Sometimes, Kuroo comes along, too. And, if his power of persuasion just so happens to be at its peak on that particular afternoon, he typically convinces Bokuto to join them, too.

Just as Oikawa is about to turn and call out to Kageyama, he and Kuroo appear beside him with matching looks of concern on their faces.

"Goodness, Tobio-chan," Oikawa gasps, clutching his chest, "at least give me some kind of warning before popping up out of nowhere like that!"

Kageyama rolls his eyes, and Kuroo merely laughs. "I was waiting for Kuroo. He was taking forever. You should be bitching about him- not me."

"Well excuse _me_ for not wanting to freeze my ass off in this weather." Kuroo shoves Kageyama's shoulder teasingly. But Kuroo doesn't quite know his own strength and nearly sends Kageyama falling flat on his face. Oikawa tries- and fails miserably- to stifle his laughter.

"Anyway," Kageyama growls, flashing Kuroo an absolutely murderous leer that, if circumstances were different, might have actually scared Oikawa. "I was about to ask what you and Coach were talking about."

Oikawa falters. He has the grace and presence of mind to catch himself before he trips over thin air and puts on his best _this is fine_ grin. "Oh, well, he wondered why Iwa-chan didn't come to his first private lesson."

"That's right… he didn't," Kuroo repeats, as if to clarify the matter for everyone present.

"And why didn't 'Iwa-chan'"- Kageyama raises the pitch of his voice a few octaves, attempting to mimic Oikawa- "show up to his first private lesson?"

Again, Oikawa has to focus his attention on each step that he takes, hoping that he doesn't misstep or do anything obvious that'll give himself away.

He hadn't been lying when he told their coach that Iwaizumi claimed he was sick. A brief text about an hour before they were supposed to meet- that's the only warning Oikawa was given. It was vague and weak and made it abundantly clear that Iwaizumi was suffering from a case of cowardice instead of a cold.

"He was feeling under the weather," Oikawa explains, shrugging his shoulders.

If it weren't Kageyama and Kuroo, Oikawa might've had the chance to end the conversation right there. Bokuto or Yaku probably would've dropped it- Lev definitely would've. But no, not these two.

"Okay, what happened?" Kuroo prompts. The usual trickster and playful troll that Oikawa's known since childhood has vanished and, In his place, stands the conscientious friend, the same boy who, in the past, had embraced Oikawa and held him close as he cried, had swooped in whenever Oikawa was in trouble.

"Nothing, Tetsu-chan."

"You're full of shit," Kageyama says as they finally arrive at the bus stop.

"So crude, Tobio-chan," Oikawa chides. He's ready to lecture Kageyama about his potty mouth, as per usual, but never gets the chance. Kuroo's hand on his arm is like a vice-grip, and he's being dragged toward the nearest bench with enough force to quickly shut him up.

Sighing, he sinks on to the bench between Kageyama and Kuroo. It's a terrible place to be- the absolute _worst_ , actually- because there really isn't anywhere for him to look besides into one of the two sets of prying eyes watching him.

Kuroo and Kageyama, in many ways, are polar opposites. While Kuroo is social and outgoing, the kind of person who makes friends at the drop of a hat, as if it's the easiest thing he's ever done, Kageyama is the type that will do anything to avoid interacting with other people. It's not that he doesn't like them. Well, Oikawa doesn't _think_ that's the problem. Kageyama just doesn't know what to say to them. He has no idea where he stands with strangers.

Over the years, though, Kuroo and Kageyama have found common ground: volleyball and, more importantly, Oikawa.

They've always been there for Oikawa, in their own special way. Kageyama's methods aren't quite as obvious, but Oikawa knows he means well. Plus, Kuroo has an unfair advantage. He's known Oikawa for twice as long. Probably three times as long.

"Just _tell_ us," Kuroo insists, nudging Oikawa in the side. The gesture's playful, but Kuroo's expression is anything but. It's been a while since Oikawa's seen Kuroo look this serious about something other than volleyball.

So, Oikawa does just that.

Kuroo and Kageyama are remarkably good listeners. They sit quietly the entire time, gazes fixed intently on Oikawa as he recalls the events of the past couple weeks.

"…it's not like he hasn't been talking to me or anything. But he definitely doesn't seem like he wants to come over again any time soon," Oikawa finishes softly.

A cool wind rustles the leaves of the nearest trees. Winter carries the strangest and most absolute silence, especially when a blanket of snow covers the ground. The world appears to be caught in a vacuum, a soundless void, as if the very chill of winter has truly frozen time.

And, of course, Kageyama effortlessly shatters the illusion.

"Maybe he's afraid of dorks," he deadpans.

Oikawa can't help it; he laughs. He snorts and guffaws and, alright, he's sure it isn't a pretty sight, but who cares?

Thankfully, Kuroo joins in and, eventually, Kageyama hesitantly chuckles along with them, too. It's nice and does a great job of alleviating the stress that's been plaguing Oikawa's thoughts recently. His chest feels lighter already, limbs looser, like he can finally breathe and move as he wishes, like he can really play volleyball to his full potential again.

"He has good reason to," Kuroo jokingly adds. Oikawa tries to glare at him, but even he knows it must look ridiculous. And Kuroo does what he does best and keeps going. "They're scary people. I never know whether to trust Oikawa because he might be plotting everyone's death or something."

"Tetsu-chan!"

"Hell, he probably has an alien hotline that lets him keep in touch with the guys that'll deal the final blow to us pathetic little humans!" Kuroo cries out, like the standup comedian he thinks he is.

Kageyama, the same Kageyama who Oikawa's almost certain has no sense of humor whatsoever, joins in. "I wouldn't be surprised if Oikawa's an alien, too."

Kuroo _loses it_.

Only Bokuto has managed to make Kuroo laugh this hard, which Bokuto never fails to remind Oikawa of whenever they get together, right after he's reduced Kuroo to a hysterical mess, rolling around on the floor, clutching his stomach like he's nuts.

Oikawa's finally stops his gaping- although he still wonders if Kageyama's body has been taken over by one of the aliens from _Invasion of the Bodysnatchers_ \- and turns on his tormentors. "Tobio-chan-"

"But really, Oikawa, I think you're exaggerating."

And, for a groundbreaking second time in the same day, Kageyama renders Oikawa speechless.

"W- you do?" Oikawa babbles, eyes wide.

"Definitely," Kuroo chimes in. He slings his arm casually across Oikawa's shoulders. "Typical Oikawa Tooru."

Oikawa bristles. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Kageyama says, punctuating the words with a heavy sigh, "that you should just ask Iwaizumi about it instead of losing your shit. Talk to him."

No witty retorts come to mind, and Oikawa can't help but be frustrated. Before he can speak up, though, Kuroo butts in.

"I never thought I'd say this but… Kageyama's right." Kuroo sounds just as confused as Oikawa by the whole turn of events.

Kageyama is as proud as a peacock, though, and seems to revel in their confusion. Oikawa doesn't know what bizarre alternate universe he's been sent to, but he's had his fill. There's no way he's going to spend the rest of his life in a world where _Kageyama's_ the voice of reason.

* * *

Daichi isn't a hateful or pessimistic person.

He can't think of anything off the top of his head that he hates. For example, while most people have at least one food they dislike, Daichi enjoys a variety of cuisine, even the unique flavors he's been confronted with since coming to Earth. Honestly, if someone were to ask what he hated, his immediate answer would probably be "nothing."

 _Nothing_.

That's what he used to think.

But there's something Daichi detests. It's not an object, not another living creature or sentient being. No, it's something far more elusive and yet far more dangerous than any human being or carnivorous extraterrestrial could ever be: lies.

Lies are the ruin of many good souls.

Lies are the reason Daichi's species nearly met its fate at the hands of an "unexpected series of natural disasters." Lies are the reason Daichi feels guilty every time he stares into Iwaizumi's lively, inquisitive eyes. Lies are the reason Daichi loses sleep at night, the reason he dreads contact with the government officials associated with Earth's exploration, the reason he wants to stay as far away from the Mothership as possible.

Daichi _loathes_ liars, and the very thought of being called one makes him sick.

Most importantly, he refuses to lie to Iwaizumi. Not again, not after everything that's happened.

That's why he has to do this. As much as he doesn't want to, as much as he'd rather tell many of their superiors to, in Iwaizumi's words, "fuck off," he reaches for his Cellular Substitute and pulls up his Supervisor's contact.

Mentors are supposed to check in with their Supervisors at least once a week. They explain their recent findings and point out any unusual behavior that may be detrimental to their mission. Usually, the conversation's brief, and the Supervisor merely listens. It's more like having a short chat with yourself; Daichi's always found it to be a bit peculiar and uncomfortable.

He's never enjoyed making these calls to begin with, but, after recent events, he _really_ doesn't want to make this call.

"Mentor #212, Earthly alias Daichi Sawamura," a voice drones, droll and lacking any sort of enunciation, "confirm or deny?"

Daichi sighs and scratches nervously at the back of his neck. "Confirm."

"In order to fully confirm identity, please provide the name of your current Student."

"Mentor #432, Earthly alias Iwaizumi Hajime," Daichi recites. He sounds cold and robotic, just like the Supervisor. An unpleasant shiver travels down his spine at the thought.

A few seconds of silence pass before the voice on the other end speaks up once again. "Identity confirmed. Are you contacting us to provide further information about your Subject?"

Daichi hesitates. He's not sure why, though; it's not like he has anything to hide. He chalks it up to the sour taste in his mouth from speaking to a Supervisor.

"Sugawara Koushi appears to be an ideal Subject. I've only met with him several times and have yet to garner any additional information that may be pertinent to our studies," Daichi says, "however, I do believe he possesses unique and admirable qualities."

"Such as?" The voice practically oozes disgust, as if the prospect of an "admirable human being" is abhorrent.

"I will outline these traits in my next written report," Daichi explains, hoping that he can keep this conversation as brief as he originally planned, "I plan to meet with Sugawara at another time in the near future. I'm sure I'll obtain better and more concise results then."

"Very good." The Supervisor's tone has yet to waver, not belaying the slightest emotion. They view it as a special skill, something to strive for, like some twisted perfection. Their people feel that emotions get in the way and serve as unnecessary interference. Feelings don't serve a valuable purpose and instead corrupt the brilliant minds of officials and leaders.

Daichi's heard hundreds of stories in the past of "trustworthy officials" who "lost their way" or "abandoned their pride" or some other ridiculous phrasing that certainly overdramatized the person's decision. He's sick of it, honestly, and, deep down, he has nothing against being in touch with his emotions. But that's information that no one, not even Iwaizumi at this point, is privy to.

One day, though… maybe one day Daichi will tell him. Maybe one day he'll work up the guts to tell him everything.

"And your Student?"

 _Well, well, well._ There's the hint of inflection Daichi's been waiting for.

"He appears to be handling his first case well," Daichi answers honestly, "I'm quite pleased by the progress he's making."

The Supervisor doesn't answer right away. "I presume that he has been too busy this week to check in?"

Wait… Iwaizumi still hadn't performed his weekly check-in yet?

"Yes, his terran university seems to occupy a great deal of his time. He's put a great deal of effort into adjusting." Daichi tries to stay calm. He simply assumed that Iwaizumi would remember.

"I suppose that makes sense," the Supervisor replies but spits the words. No two members of their species look exactly alike, but Daichi's had the pleasure of seeing this particular Supervisor's face before. He can just picture the swirling colors dancing behind his superior's triangular pupils, pointed teeth bared in a grimace, tiny nostrils flaring.

"I'm sure he's informed you about his Subject?" Daichi silently prays that Iwaizumi at least had the sense to provide that much.

"Yes, yes he has."

Daichi has a couple seconds to catch his breath and thank the stars that there's still hope for Iwaizumi Hajime yet. Until the Supervisor's sharp tone cuts through the blissful silence like the sharpened edge of a deadly blade.

"But"- and Daichi swears his life flashes before his eyes- "we're a bit concerned about him. Personally, I would advise that he be careful. Earth is a dangerous place, especially for our kind, and I'd hate for him to lose his way at such an early point in his career as a Researcher."

Daichi knows a threat when he hears one.

"Of course," he replies because, really, what more can he say? "I'll make sure to inform him immediately."

"That's what I like to hear." For once, the Supervisor sounds genuine and, scarier still, genuinely _pleased_. "Thank you. We shall speak again soon."

Daichi politely offers his own farewell and ends the transmission. He can barely believe he made it through the conversation alive and has no problem letting the Substitute drop gracelessly from his grasp, tossing it carelessly on to the couch.

The Supervisors have threatened Iwaizumi. They've threatened him, and he and Daichi haven't been on Earth for more than a few weeks. At this rate, they'll be ordered back to the Mothership in a matter of _days._

Daichi can't- flat out _refuses_ \- to go back to that ship right now. If he had it his way, he'd never set foot on that monstrosity ever again.

But Iwaizumi… that's the bigger issue.

The warm leather seems to call to him, and Daichi wastes no time in joining his Substitute, flopping down unceremoniously into the plush cushions. He buries his face in the armrest and exhales slowly.

Iwaizumi's never seen him following a call. Daichi's made sure that he's alone at times like this because, well, he's a Mentor, which means he's Iwaizumi's chief role model. He's made himself out to be a calm and collected figure, compassionate to an extent but strict when he needs to be, honest to a tee. He wants to embody the ideal Mentor and, for Iwaizumi's sake, carefully hides the cracks in his already weakened armor.

Without biological parents (at least not in the earthly sense of the word), many of their people grow up to be lifeless shells, much like the artificial intelligence tasked with running and monitoring most facilities aboard the ship. That's the last thing Daichi wants Iwaizumi to become. The latest generation is full of emotionless robots, and Daichi can't stand it.

He's not a revolutionary, but he sure as hell won't let the Supervisors ruin Iwaizumi Hajime.


	5. ufo hunting 101

**Author's Note:** happy monday, everyone! so here we go with chapter 5 [shakes excitedly]

now, first off, I'd like to say that this is my favorite chapter so far. you'll probably see what I mean once you finish. the last scene especially. oh and I've never mentioned this before but I'm actually cross-posting this from ao3 so if you prefer ao3's format and everything, this fic is also there under skyestiel.

let's go ahead and get on with the show! shout out to my betas and thank you so much to everyone whose shown interest in this fic! honestly, I really appreciate everything. feedback is always appreciated! ENJOY

* * *

Everyone loses their cool sometimes.

For some people, it's a common occurrence. Words spill freely from their mouth without any regard to whether the speaker actually wants to voice them or not. And, usually, it's the sort of information they most certainly _don't_ want to voice. On a daily basis, the poor souls end up commiserating and regretting mistakes their body makes without first consulting their brain or moral compass beforehand, left to bury their heads in the sand after saying such mortifying things out loud. Awful, really.

Then, there are those lucky enough to think before they speak. Oikawa Tooru just so happens to be a member of that fortunate group.

Or at least that's what he thought until stupid Iwaizumi Hajime came along and ruined everything.

This whole _thing_ , this urge to totally destroy his impeccable public image and make a fool of himself in front of countless classmates and peers- it's all Iwaizumi's fault. He's clueless to it, though, and probably better for it. Oikawa would rather drop dead than admit it to Iwaizumi's face. He can't possibly explain that the source of his trouble takes the form of a certain someone with spiky porcupine hair and surprisingly broad shoulders and strong-looking arms and…

 _No_.

If it weren't for craziness like that, Oikawa wouldn't be in this position.

To the outside observer, to any of the people wandering throughout the building at this hour, Oikawa and Iwaizumi's current situation probably seems harmless. Just two typical college students, going about their day, leaving class with backpacks securely in place, sights set on their next destination.

Oh, but little do they know what they're missing.

Oikawa's shocked he hasn't torn every lock of his luscious hair out by now. If this carries on for any longer, he'll make Iwaizumi pay for every strand he pulls out and for whatever wig he eventually buys, no matter what the price. And why is his carefully styled and gelled hair in danger? Because, a little over two weeks later, he and Iwaizumi _still_ have yet to talk things over.

He'd had some ridiculous notion that he'd walk into calculus class this morning, see Iwaizumi poised and ready to learn, and would have the balls to confront him, right then and there. He'd smile and explain everything concisely, so as to avoid further issues, and Iwaizumi would just sit and listen like the angelic little closet athlete he is. But, when the time came, he couldn't muster up the courage to mention it. Present Oikawa can't help but laugh at yesterday evening Oikawa's optimism and naivety.

But now that he's gone and blown that chance, too, he's left with some pretty limited options.

1\. He could wait until class tomorrow. Maybe bring it up before their professor started teaching like he'd planned to do today. Of course, look how _that_ turned out.

2\. He could text Iwaizumi later and flat out ask. But that's the "easy way out," as Kageyama would likely say.

3\. He could invite Iwaizumi over later and hope for the best? Yeah, there's absolutely no way that'd turn out well.

Which brings Oikawa to his last option:

4\. Just talk to Iwaizumi now.

Good old option #4. No, he doesn't like it either. But that's what it's come to.

In the time it has taken Oikawa to reach his reluctant conclusion, Iwaizumi's managed to unintentionally- or, considering recent events, maybe intentionally- put a few feet of space between them. He walks with purpose and makes no move to check and see whether Oikawa's still following him.

Blissfully unaware, other students mill about in the hallways. There are a plethora of different math courses held in the rooms on this floor ranging from college algebra to the dreaded elementary differential equations, otherwise known as calculus four. Many of the students in this particular section are engineering majors. The university provides separate math courses for people in the field, for those that, as Bokuto says, "clearly don't love themselves if they decide taking four semesters of calculus sounds cool."

Oikawa struggles not to make eye contact with anyone he passes. Thankfully, he doesn't know many of them. Outside of the volleyball team and Iwaizumi, he hasn't made the effort to acquire any additional friends. Acquaintances are fine, the kind of people he enjoys occasionally speaking to around campus. But they never talk outside of class so they're certainly not as close to Oikawa as, say, Kageyama, for example.

 _What_ … _what do I say? What_ can _I say with all of these people watching? What will they think?_

Each step feels heavy, as if his legs may actually give out at any moment. He can barely focus on Iwaizumi. He can barely focus on the surrounding people, on steadying his breathing, on holding his body upright. The simple act of walking suddenly feels a lot harder than it should.

"Iwa… Iwa-chan?"

"Mmm?" Iwaizumi replies noncommittally. He doesn't turn, and in no way other than verbally reacts to the abrupt call.

Oikawa watches his shoes, staring them down as he continues to make his way down the hallway, step by agonizing step. "I think we need to, uh… talk." A group of male students stalk past at that moment, and Oikawa catches himself staring at the nearest boy's "MAY THE (m x a) BE WITH YOU" shirt. He quietly files the information away in the back of his head for later. One can never have too many Star Wars shirts.

"About?" Iwaizumi asks. The one word response stings, but it's not like Oikawa expected differently.

"Things? Important friend things? I don't really know how to put it," he says through gritted teeth, barely able to make eye contact with Iwaizumi.

"Later," Iwaizumi replies curtly, "we can talk about it another time."

"But Iwa-"

"This hallway's full of people, Oikawa. Let's wait."

Iwaizumi's voice wavers. He's right. The people loitering in the hallway are already looking their way.

"I know but-"

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi says, a hint of frustration tinging the single word, and Oikawa's sure that he'll turn around now. He's sure that Iwaizumi will have enough sense to stop and hear him out. But a few seconds pass and nothing happens.

Oikawa knows it's not the best time. Really, he knows. He wishes it didn't have to be this way. He's even willing to shoulder some of the blame although he has no idea why their relationship's become so strained in such a short period of time.

It's his fault for not saying something sooner- he'll admit that. But Iwaizumi's far from innocent. He could've easily explained his weird behavior from a couple weeks ago the day after it happened. Most people aren't granted the privilege of seeing Oikawa's room, of seeing the full extent of his passion, but Iwaizumi is special enough, and, granted, he may not understand how much it meant to Oikawa but that doesn't justify his actions.

Oikawa feels himself beginning to panic. And, as if that's not unsettling enough, the fact that he rarely panics certainly doesn't help.

 _Let's wait._

For what, Iwaizumi? For things to completely fall apart, once and for all?

The thought makes Oikawa sick. He wants to run or scream or, fuck, just do _something_ to release the anger boiling beneath his skin. It's bubbling up, about to spill over, and Iwaizumi continues on his way as if nothing's wrong and the exit door is only a couple strides away and-

"I'm sorry for being a nerd!"

 _Oh_.

 _Well_. There goes Oikawa's spotless track record when it comes to remaining calm and collected.

Everyone in the immediate area stops talking and turns to face Oikawa and Iwaizumi. A small group of girls frantically work to help their friend gather her recently dropped books. A pair of adults- professors, probably- shoot Oikawa judgmental looks as they pass, quickening their paces. Students lining the walls, waiting to get into their classrooms, gape at Oikawa and, a few minutes later, start muttering and gossiping amongst themselves. Oikawa's not an idiot; he knows exactly what they're chittering about.

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, has yet to move. Not an inch.

He stands as if frozen to the spot, and Oikawa can practically feel his heart crawling up his throat. What the _hell_ had he been thinking, blurting that out? Talk about word vomit. It's been so long since he's lost control like that.

He's just about to open his mouth, to apologize, when Iwaizumi swivels around and stomps down the hallway- in Oikawa's direction.

Oikawa hasn't quite recovered yet and can only watch as Iwaizumi snatches his wrist, dragging him around the corner. The tittering gets louder, and a nearby girl, the clumsy one, chortles like a hyena.

The only rooms at the end of this particular hallway are bathrooms, which means, luckily enough, many students are long gone by now, already having trudged into their respective classrooms with the enthusiasm of zombies. They should be alone for the next fifteen minutes, at the very least, and Iwaizumi apparently knows that.

"What the fuck was _that_?" Iwaizumi growls. He's in Oikawa's personal space, close enough that each tiny bead of sweat gliding down his forehead glistens in the sad excuse for fluorescent lighting overhead. Red colors his cheeks, hopefully from embarrassment and not from an oncoming fit of rage.

Oikawa's skin burns everywhere Iwaizumi touches him, specifically where his fingers rest, wrapped securely around Oikawa's wrist to hold him in place. But it's not forceful or overbearing and certainly doesn't hurt. "I… I don't know." And that's no lie.

Iwaizumi takes a step closer. Oikawa instinctively takes a step back, only to find that he's boxed in, pressed up against the wall with only a foot or so of space between his body and Iwaizumi's. "Did you honestly just apologize for being a 'nerd'?"

"…Yes?" _Wasn't that the problem?_

"Okay, okay," Iwaizumi says, shaking his head, "I have no idea where _that_ came from. But I bet it has something to do with the night I came over, doesn't it?"

The ground seems to shift beneath Oikawa's feet. He forces himself to stay upright and smiles weakly. He shrugs his shoulders. So he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

"I knew it… fuck," Iwaizumi groans.

This is Oikawa's opportunity to jump right in and begin his little speech, complete with his own rendition of "Why Can't We Be Friends?", and yet his mouth refuses to move. Iwaizumi's calloused hand feels nice against his wrist and the ruffled athletic shirt draped over his torso smells clean and, most importantly, at least to Oikawa, his skin radiates heat like a fucking furnace. He's like some sort of miniature Sun, and Oikawa can't get enough of it. His touch is light and yet it sears Oikawa's skin. He's frozen in place, captivated by the heat of Iwaizumi's breath as it ghosts across his face and travels down his neck.

And, unfortunately, he can't stop the thought before it crosses his mind: he craves more of that warmth.

It's awful. The itch to reach out and draw Iwaizumi closer, to surround himself with that all-encompassing and unexplainable warmth. Oikawa hates it. He's aware that every living creature exerts body heat. But this…. He can't place it. Somehow, this is different.

To test the waters, he shifts his arm a bit higher up the wall as if trying to escape. The movement pulls Iwaizumi a little closer and, in no time at all, the foot of space becomes a mere few inches. And, _shit_ , it's irresistible.

He thinks back to the nights on the hill. His friend who, after years of speculation, Oikawa still can't put a face to, offered to wrap him in the blanket he brought along. He insisted that Oikawa would get sick, and that if that were to happen, the aliens would come and leave Oikawa behind, afraid of bringing foreign viruses aboard their ship.

Oikawa furiously nodded his head in response, almost to the point of giving himself a nasty headache, and quickly snatched the edge of the blanket, already draped over his friend's shoulders, hurriedly pulling it over his own tiny body. It was such a wonderful feeling, being pressed up against someone else.

Iwaizumi, as if only just realizing their closeness, instantly goes silent. Oikawa watches in fascination as his jaw clenches and unclenches, watches his eyelashes flutter, watches his tongue slowly drag over his chapped lips.

Oikawa wants to say something, but he doesn't know what exactly that something is. The last thing he wants is to blurt out more nonsense. But, before he can even consider speaking up, Iwaizumi's drawing away.

He pulls back his hand as if he's been burned, fingers curling and uncurling at his side, and takes a hesitant step back. For a second, Oikawa gets the irrational urge to pull Iwaizumi against him and say something daft like, "I don't mind" or "I like your warmth."

 _I'm losing it,_ Oikawa muses bitterly.

"I really did have other commitments," Iwaizumi finally mumbles but keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. "I didn't want to tell you because it's kind of embarrassing."

"O-oh?" How could anything be more embarrassing than what Oikawa had thought and even said in the past few minutes?

"Daichi doesn't like me being out late. Plus, we, um, usually eat dinner together. It's just a weird unspoken agreement we have. I didn't want to hurt your feelings or creep you out so I just sort of left. Which is rude, I guess, and I apologize." The whole explanation seems to coalesce into one massive run-on sentence, and Oikawa desperately tries to keep up.

"It's okay," Oikawa interjects. He worries that Iwaizumi may explode if he keeps babbling, which would be a hell of a waste after all this hard work and awkwardness. Even if he doesn't quite believe Iwaizumi's reasoning, he'll accept the apology. And, looking down into Iwaizumi's wide eyes, Oikawa gets an idea.

"Well, I know how you can make it up to me, Iwa-chan," Oikawa coos.

 _That_ gets the desired reaction. "Make it up to you?"

"Why don't we go do something really interesting tonight?"

Iwaizumi blinks. "Wait, what does that even mean?"

"It'll be a surprise, Iwa-chan," Oikawa explains, rolling his eyes. "And, since only a handful of people are lucky enough to come along and partake in this 'something,' you should feel honored."

Oikawa grins, hoping it looks genuine, and cocks his head to the side. He waits patiently for his answer, and, to his relief, Iwaizumi doesn't immediately reject him. "Will it land me in jail?"

"No, of course not."

"Will my life be at risk?"

Oikawa rolls his eyes. "Really now, Iwa-chan, who do you think I am? It's nothing like that."

Apparently, that's what Iwaizumi needs to hear because, without interrogating Oikawa further, he sighs and, albeit reluctantly, agrees to tag along.

* * *

 _So this is public transportation…_

Iwaizumi shifts nervously, eyes flitting around the bus, skimming over the weary faces of other passengers. They look about as happy to be there as Iwaizumi does. And, to make matters worse, he swears that the bus driver knows he's an alien or has his suspicions because he keeps glaring daggers at him.

Oikawa, on the other hand, seems completely unfazed.

Well, it figures. He's the one who dragged Iwaizumi down to the bus stop in the first place. Oikawa had instructed him to meet him outside the mathematics hall at seven o'clock sharp. And that's when he had done the dragging. He refuses to tell Iwaizumi where they're going and, after the incident in the hallway, Iwaizumi can't help but be a bit nervous.

 _Something really interesting, huh?_ Iwaizumi can't get the words out of his head. What the hell did that even mean? He may not know Oikawa all that well, but he still knows the phrasing's ominous and far from comforting.

They sit wedged together, and, after glimpsing Iwaizumi's puzzled expression, Oikawa explains it's actually for the best. Iwaizumi watches more passengers file on to the little bus and realizes that Oikawa's right: not everyone gets a seat.

He hadn't really expected the crowd, though. There are a few rows of seats in the back and two longer rows alongside the front section of the bus, all shrouded in a scratchy olive green material. Those without a seat stand in the aisle, fingers hooked around the nearest pole for support, staring blankly out the windows instead of into the eyes of other passengers.

Now that Iwaizumi thinks about it, this is a college town and, from what he remembers, many of the students are short on cash. It's a lot cheaper to use public transportation.

Curious, he glances over at Oikawa. They haven't really talked since climbing on, and Oikawa stares intently out the nearest window, just like the other standing passengers. From this angle, Iwaizumi can tell Oikawa's eyes are drawn to the night sky, namely the stars.

There it is again. The same focus, the same child-like wonder Iwaizumi witnessed when they first met. The light from street signs they pass illuminate Oikawa's entranced expression, painting the slope of his nose in brilliant whites and yellows, highlighting the length of his dark lashes.

Iwaizumi blinks and quickly turns away.

 _Get a hold of yourself_ , Iwaizumi quietly reprimands himself. He can't believe he'd just been staring at Oikawa. Eventually, he gives up and tentatively returns his gaze to Oikawa. Who, of course, chooses that exact moment to look his way.

They stare, unflinching, for a few seconds before Oikawa finally breaks the tension. "Looks like we're here!" he chimes brightly, like they haven't just exchanged one of the most awkward "oh, hey, I caught you ogling" looks. Iwaizumi's starting to think Oikawa has a knack for acting like nothing's wrong when, in actuality, it most certainly is.

As they exit, Iwaizumi steadily meets the bus driver's gaze. He doesn't break eye contact, and Iwaizumi silently hopes he hasn't come across another Researcher. To his relief, the stare down doesn't last long. The man, all two hundred and so pounds of him, seems completely human, and, although he smiles at Iwaizumi as he leaves, appears to pose no immediate threat.

Before he can call out to the driver, maybe double check and make sure he's not being watched, Oikawa's tugging on his wrist. "Come on, Iwa-chan, hurry!"

Iwaizumi does as he's told. Mostly because he has no other option but, admittedly, also because it's Oikawa. And because the whole bus driver thing has left him feeling on edge.

They step out into the night and, well, Iwaizumi doesn't know what he'd been expecting, but this isn't it.

A… park?

A sign sits proudly in front of them, a simple "Community Park" inscribed in thick, slanting letters across the front. Behind the sign lies a hillside, the bottom bathed in soft white light from the one or two streetlights along the sidewalk.

"Hey…" Iwaizumi's brain fights to catch up with what he's seeing. The temperature is steadily dropping, and Iwaizumi watches a small puff of white air leave his parted lips. Why has Oikawa chosen this place? What's he planning?

Even if he wanted to head back, though, the bus has already pulled away in the time it's taken him to regain his composure, and Oikawa clearly has no intention of walking back in the direction they came. In other words, Iwaizumi's screwed.

"Oh, hold on," Oikawa mumbles, reaching into his jacket pocket. He rummages for a few seconds, face screwed up, before pulling out a pair of black gloves. Iwaizumi's hands, buried in his own pockets, prickle at the sight.

Instead of slipping them on like any normal person would, though, Oikawa holds one in front of Iwaizumi's flabbergasted face, dangling it around. At first, Iwaizumi thinks he's taunting him. A "wow, your life sucks because I have gloves and you don't" kind of thing.

He considers knocking the damn thing out of Oikawa's grip but, before he can even withdraw his frozen fingers and make a go at it, Oikawa's pulling his hand out of his pocket for him. Heat floods Iwaizumi's face, and he can hear his pulse pounding in his ears.

"H-hey, what the hell are you doing, dumbass Oikawa?" Iwaizumi stutters but makes no move to shove him away. "Those are your gloves. You'll freeze your ass off without them."

Oikawa rolls his eyes like the very thought of frostbite is too farfetched for a person like him and carefully maneuvers Iwaizumi's fingers to make his job easier. "I appreciate your concern, Iwa-chan, but I don't think you get it." Slowly, he slides the black fabric over Iwaizumi's fingers, lightly grazing his knuckles and the sensitive underside of his wrist as he outfits his newest friend in one of his own gloves.

It fits Iwaizumi's palm, but Oikawa's fingers are certainly longer than Iwaizumi's and it shows. He used to think he had fairly large hands and yet his Subject has somehow managed to dispel even that universally accepted fact.

With an almost shy glint in his eyes, the first display of bashfulness Iwaizumi's seen, Oikawa releases Iwaizumi's now gloved hand and turns away. The gesture leaves Iwaizumi baffled because who the hell _is_ this guy?

"You better not lose that glove, Iwa-chan. That pair's my favorite. Black goes with almost everything," Oikawa adds in that playful yet commanding tone he appears to have down to a science, as if sensing Iwaizumi's bewilderment.

He then continues to be his enigmatic self when, as opposed to handing Iwaizumi the other glove or drawing a second pair from the folds of his jacket, he slips glove number two onto the hand opposite Iwaizumi and turns in the direction of the hillside. "You just wait," Oikawa suddenly blurts, reaching for Iwaizumi, grasping the hand unfortunate enough to remain gloveless. Both of their clasped hands are bare and exposed to the night air, but Oikawa's grip is strong and firm and why the fuck is it so _warm_?

For what feels the thousandth time that day, Oikawa's dragging Iwaizumi along behind him. They're scaling the hillside at a surprisingly fast pace. The grass is a little wet and, several times, they nearly trip. In typical Oikawa fashion, he merely laughs it off as if the prospect of rolling down the hill doesn't scare him at all, which, knowing him, it probably doesn't.

Just when Iwaizumi feels like telling Oikawa he's changed his mind, that he'd rather head back to his apartment before it gets too late and that they should forget this whole crazy charade, Oikawa abruptly comes to a stop. To Iwaizumi's relief, he avoids colliding bodily with his overly exuberant companion.

"Hey, what are- _oh_. Oh, shit."

Darkness.

It surrounds them from every side, a pitch black blanket filled with tiny specks of brilliant white light. The moon, currently in its waning crescent phase, hangs in the sky, serving as the only light source at the top of the hill. Craters dot the rocky surface, and Iwaizumi notes his lack of knowledge in regard to Earth's only satellite. He thinks back to the vibrant displays from his classes, back to the seemingly inconsequential celestial body's history, and, for a second, he feels like he's on the mothership once again, peering longingly out at the surrounding universe.

"Oikawa…" Iwaizumi can't seem to come up with a better response. His tongue feels heavy, immobile, just like his limbs. So he settles for doing nothing instead.

"Ah, I'm so excited, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa cries from off to Iwaizumi's left.

Somehow, Iwaizumi manages to move his head, just enough to see what Oikawa's doing. His eyes widen.

Oikawa kneels a couple feet away and shrugs a gigantic duffle bagoff his shoulder. It's immense, bigger than any collegiate backpack Iwaizumi's seen around campus, even the kind strapped to the backs of "hikers" and "nature lovers", and, at the back of his mind, he can't help but wonder if he's going crazy because how had he missed that? Oikawa ignores Iwaizumi's stupefied expression, gaping maw and all, and unzips the giant duffle, withdrawing its contents. Iwaizumi waits patiently for the onslaught of supplies Oikawa's likely brought along for the occasion, but, oddly enough, he pulls out nothing more than a huge navy blue blanket.

 _That's it? Why did he need such a large bag?_

Completely oblivious to Iwaizumi's mounting confusion, Oikawa climbs to his feet and straightens out the blanket. He spreads it out across the grass and, huffing a big sigh, flops down on to it. When Iwaizumi makes no move to follow suit, Oikawa shoots him a questioning look and eagerly pats the empty space beside him.

Iwaizumi hesitates. But, with those big dark eyes peering up at him, his resolve crumbles.

He hates to admit it, but Daichi's totally right: it looks like he's stuck with Oikawa.

* * *

"And… what exactly are we supposed to be doing right now?"

Oikawa feels like a kid again, a childish little smirk tugging at his lips. "We're looking for UFO's, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi remains silent, face expressionless. No disgust or uncertainty. No shame or embarrassment. Just blankly staring at the sky overhead as if the idea of searching for aliens doesn't bother him in the slightest.

This could very well be a horrible idea. At any second, Iwaizumi could easily curl his lip in disgust, stand up, and leave, not turning back once to look at the freak he's made the mistake of befriending. Iwaizumi may never talk to him again after this, and Oikawa is completely aware of that sad fact. He came here knowing full well that this may be the last time he and Iwaizumi ever hang out together. Alone, just the two of them.

Maybe it was a rash decision. Maybe he'll regret it later. But right now, with Iwaizumi stretched out beside him, plush blanket beneath them and strikingly beautiful stars above, Oikawa could care less.

"UFO's, huh?" Iwaizumi mutters offhandedly.

He's been relatively quiet since lying down so Oikawa doesn't expect the sudden rhetorical question. He glances down between them where their hands lie only a couple inches apart. His hand dwarfs Iwaizumi's. He can't help but imagine what would happen if he stretched his pinky finger out to brush against the back of Iwaizumi's hand, what would happen if he took advantage of his long, slender fingers and reached over, placing his hand over Iwaizumi's. What would their intertwined fingers look like?

Before he can get sidetracked further, Oikawa turns his attention back to Iwaizumi. "I've been doing this since I was little, you know. Heading out to the park down the street, scaling the biggest hill there. That's the only place you could go to escape the light pollution." He laughs. "All so I could sit out and watch the sky like this."

Oikawa waits, wondering if Iwaizumi will comment, but he keeps quiet, as if he knows Oikawa isn't quite finished yet.

"I didn't have many friends in elementary school. I mean, not that I was alone or anything. There was Tetsu-chan, of course, and this other boy. I can't remember his name, but he used to like to come along whenever I decided to… well, go hunting for aliens, I guess. We were kids so it sounded a lot more exciting when we put it that way, more adventurous, even if my mother thought we were silly for it."

Oikawa pauses. This is the hardest part. He doesn't understand why he can't remember the name of his other childhood friend. Oikawa recalls spending a great deal of time with him when he was young and yet he can't picture his face anymore or what his voice sounded like. He can't even remember when they first met. They were together for a few years, close as could be, until, completely out of the blue, the boy moved away. It was the middle of the summer when he left- the weekend before Oikawa's seventh birthday. His mother was the one to break the news to him, and, sure, he was upset, but he couldn't bring himself to cry. Even now, the whole thing feels a bit off to him.

"Why did he stop?" Iwaizumi asks softly.

Oikawa closes his eyes, breathing in the night air.

"He moved away."

The telltale rustle of Iwaizumi adjusting his jacket fills the momentary silence. "Oh. Sorry."

A gust of wind lightly tousles the nearest blades of grass. His mother's face looms in the back of his mind, weak smile and everything. A brief flash of a memory dances before his eyes. The words gliding over her lips: _He's moving away, Tooru-chan._

Oikawa's other hand, the one not temptingly close to Iwaizumi's, curls into a fist.

"It's alright, though. I talked Testu-chan into going with me sometimes," Oikawa blurts, worried Iwaizumi may think he wants sympathy or pity or something of the sort. Which is the _last_ thing he wants from anyone, especially Iwaizumi. "He doesn't believe in aliens- he told me- but he still likes looking up at the stars."

"Most people do."

"Do you, Iwa-chan?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"What about aliens?"

Iwaizumi stiffens at Oikawa's side. Finally he gets a reaction. "The universe is fucking huge. Who knows what's out there."

 _Wow_. Oikawa really likes Iwaizumi's response, for whatever reason. Probably because that's how he's always felt. The probability of there being alien life is greater than there not being any; how can you dispute a statistic like that?

"I completely agree," Oikawa says, smiling to himself. "We just haven't met them yet. I'm sure they're busy studying more advanced species. Not that they couldn't learn a thing or two from us, huh, Iwa-chan?"

He throws in a dash of cheek and sass for good measure, hoping he can get a rise out of Iwaizumi, but the resulting silence is heavy. Oppressively so, to the point of making Oikawa uncomfortable. He's managed to keep his anxiety at bay, but he can already feel it creeping back up on him again.

"Can I… can I ask you something?"

Oikawa swallows, throat suddenly dry. "Of course, Iwa-chan."

"How did you get interested in all of this? You know, space and aliens and everything." He sounds a little exasperated as he asks, and Oikawa doesn't quite know what to make of it. He can only assume, with nothing else to go off of, that it has something to do with the whole "too much of a nerd" issue.

"Well… I don't know," Oikawa answers honestly, "It feels like forever."

Iwaizumi huffs. _Jerk_ , Oikawa decides. But an interesting jerk.

"Hush now, Iwa-chan. I have my reasons," Oikawa scolds.

"Yeah?" His tone is a lot softer, a lot less accusing, than Oikawa expects.

"I wouldn't walk around saying that I loved something if I didn't. Space is absolutely _fascinating_ and to think that there could be intelligent life out there… I mean, just think of what we could learn?"

Oikawa swears that he hears Iwaizumi mumble something under his breath, but he continues unperturbed. "And just think about what they would look like! Maybe they'd be giants compared to us, maybe we'd dwarf them. Maybe they would have two legs, maybe four."

He's totally gushing now, spouting every space and alien-related thought that crosses his mind, but Iwaizumi brought this on himself. One doesn't simply ask Oikawa about his interest in the universe and extraterrestrials and expect a short explanation.

"Oh, and space _travel_ , Iwa-chan," Oikawa carries on, raising his hands to the sky. "I would love to find a civilization that's mastered the art of space travel. I can't even imagine how life as we know it would change if a species like that were willing to share their secrets with us. We could travel to the farthest corners of the universe, and, ah, the things we could learn!"

Iwaizumi mumbles his approval but says nothing more. He's strangely quiet, even for him, and Oikawa doesn't like it. _You've gone too far_ , he chastises himself. He went too far and scared poor Iwaizumi in the process. Who in their right mind would want to be friends with someone like him?

And it _hurts_. It hurts so badly because he'd hoped that Iwaizumi would be the one to understand. Oikawa had hoped he would be the one to pass no judgment, to take an interest in his reasoning, to possibly even join in and babble about space with him.

For a second, Oikawa considers telling Iwaizumi that the whole obsession thing's a joke. That's what he'd tell anyone else. He's Oikawa Tooru, captain of the university volleyball team, an attractive and smart young man on the brink of a bright future. No matter Iwaizumi's social standing, Oikawa can't have the rest of the department finding out about this.

 _I'm weird. Too weird for them._ That's what he's always told himself. About the engineering department, about the other students.

 _This isn't the kind of 'passion' they want._

And, a bit harsher: _I'm a_ freak.

"Why?" Iwaizumi abruptly growls, and Oikawa squeaks, literally squeaks like a terrified mouse at the mercy of a clever house cat. Stunned, he looks over at Iwaizumi. But he's staring up at the stars as if Oikawa's not there.

The other shoe is about to fall. Or, as Kuroo would probably say, in his lovely colloquial language, the shit's about to hit the fan. Iwaizumi's going to call Oikawa out. He'll ask him why he's so strange, why he has to sully his "good looks" and "charm" and whatever the hell else he supposedly has been gifted with.

Oikawa can't bear it, can't bear the thought of Iwaizumi saying those horrible things to him. Those are the same nasty words spiteful people hurled at him in high school when his team beat theirs. Those are the venomous insults spouted by jealous classmates and frustrated ex-girlfriends. They don't belong on Iwaizumi's lips. He may be temperamental at times and, sure, maybe he has a short fuse, but that doesn't mean Iwaizumi's mean or hateful.

Oikawa can't lose him.

Grin and bear it, that's what he has to do. He'll laugh and make a comment about how silly his younger self was. He'll promise to hide any of his science fiction paraphernalia whenever Iwaizumi comes over if it bothers him, promise to never bring it up again, as long as Iwaizumi agrees to stay. It's irrational and, yes, this will be the first time he's made such a compromise, but it'll be worth it.

"Iwa-chan, I-"

"Why did you want to show me this?"

His breath catches in his throat. _Here it comes_. "W-why?"

"Yes, why _me_?"

Oikawa's pounding heart stalls for what feels like an eternity. That isn't what he anticipated. Not exactly. "Why… you?" he repeats hesitantly.

Iwaizumi sighs and, suddenly, warmth spreads up Oikawa's arm. He somehow manages to stop himself from panicking any more than he already is and, slowly, lets his gaze wander to where their hands lie, now joined.

It's the same warmth Oikawa's noticed several times before, including their argument in the hallway earlier that day. Iwaizumi's touch is gentle, reassuring, the perfect place to focus and keep himself grounded. Every fear of floating away, far from the comfort of Iwaizumi's familiarity, fades in that instant.

"I don't get it, that's all," Iwaizumi continues, voice equally as soothing as his touch. "Why did you bring me, of all people, out here? I can tell this isn't something you invite every new person you come across to do."

 _Why, indeed_ … Oikawa still hasn't sorted out his own feelings on the matter yet. He's certain that Iwaizumi's the perfect person to share this with, though, and, well, that's about as far as he's gotten in figuring out this whole mess of a relationship.

"You're my friend," Oikawa finally responds quietly. "I don't understand it either. I wish I did and maybe I will eventually, but I just get this feeling that… you could become my best friend, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi silently tilts his head back, looking to the sky once again, and, this time, Oikawa's sure that he's petrified him. He sighs resignedly because, deep down, he knows this is where his pitiful attempt at friendship ends.

But no.

Iwaizumi offers a heavy sigh of his own and, squeezing Oikawa's hand, sits up. He turns his head to face Oikawa, worrying his lip, and stares, moonlight glinting off his eyes and illuminating his cheekbones.

"Oikawa, I think there's something I need to tell you." He inhales, holds his breath for a second, and exhales. "About… well, about me."


	6. the big reveal

**Author's note:** hello again! looks like this chapter didn't take me quite as long to post, which I'm thrilled about. it's partly because I sat my ass down and actually _wrote_ and partly because this chapter's not as long as others

even so, important things happen so make sure you read iwa and daichi's flashback closely! lots of cool stuff there. as always, shout out to my lovely betas who put up with my indecisiveness. I also would like to say again that I appreciate all of my readers _so much_! every favorite, comment, etc helps so know that I am thankful for the attention this fic's already gotten. now, on with the show~

* * *

 _a year prior to current events, in terran alias Daichi Sawamura's office aboard the BC Ambition_

Iwaizumi knows this is going to be one of _those_ talks the moment he receives the message to meet in Daichi's quarters.

His office is fairly large, probably twice the size of Iwaizumi's room, which comes as no surprise. As someone with more than thirty years of experience under his belt, he's been gifted the numerous privileges granted to higher rank government officials. And one of those privileges just so happens to be a big ass room.

However, even at this size, there's very little filling the spacious office. There's a desk near the wall farthest from the entrance, metallic with a projection display built into its semicircular shape. A huge tapestry depicting a terran landscape painting hangs on the wall behind his desk. It dates back to the Tang Dynasty, a Chinese kingdom known for being one of the greatest empires in Earth's history. Daichi also chose a leather chair as his "work chair" and selected two seats fashioned from a new age alloy for his guests.

Hands resting on his thighs, Iwaizumi glances over at his Mentor who, oddly enough, hasn't said a single word since he sat down. The strange material coating every surface aboard the ship, whether it be the floor or furniture, hasn't necessarily bothered Iwaizumi in the past, but now it feels… weird. Well, weirder than usual. And Iwaizumi can't seem to sit still. He wants to pace- _badly_. Daichi constantly insists it's his worst habit to which Iwaizumi always quips, "there are far worse habits to be had."

"So you want me to go to Earth?" he prompts, keeping his tone neutral like any proper visitor would.

Daichi sits ramrod straight in his fancy recliner instead of assuming a more relaxed position- because apparently reclining is frowned upon- and regards Iwaizumi with obvious concern.

"That's been your plan for a while, right? You decided on an Earthly name ages ago and most of your classes focus on terran history, culture, technology…" he trails off, fingers twitching in his lap.

 _Yes, he's definitely concerned._

"That's the idea," Iwaizumi confirms, hoping to lighten the mood. The Mentor and Student dynamic requires cohesiveness, understanding, and, most importantly, trust. They won't get anywhere if Daichi acts the part of the cold, stone-faced teacher encouraged by his superiors.

"I had to double check, just to be sure," Daichi says, cocking his head to the side. "For all I know, you could've decided on a terran name because of me. A lot of Researchers do that once they're placed with a Mentor."

Iwaizumi's heard this argument before. A few of his friends admitted to choosing their current names after hearing that of their appointed Mentor. It's pretty common, now that Iwaizumi thinks about it. Maybe Daichi's not too off base with this whole interrogation thing.

"You don't have to worry about that with me."

"I didn't think so," Daichi echoes back fondly. "And your dreams of becoming a Soldier? You've long since nixed that particular idea, yes?"

"Yes," Iwaizumi snorts, "Quite some time ago."

Soldiers are tasked with missions involving hand-to-hand combat. From a young age, they learn how to handle a variety of weapons and receive the most physically taxing of any training regimen. They're not to be messed with, that's for sure.

When combat training came around, Iwaizumi quickly caught on to the basic artillery and swordsmanship techniques required of all students. Firing a gun became second nature to him, and he was overwhelmingly successful in his Mastery of Blade Weaponry class. For a while, he thought the Researcher position wouldn't let him work to his full potential. He was obviously better suited to the role of a Soldier, skillfully wielding his weapon of choice as he courageously faced their enemies.

Those were the fantasies of a child, though, and, by the time he began to mature, he'd tossed the crazy notion to the side. Researchers were more valuable and ranked higher in the social hierarchy. Plus, contrary to popular belief, he lived for the acquirement of knowledge, for the venture into the unknown.

"Again, I figured as much, but I was ordered to ask," Daichi laments. His eyes keep drifting over to the projection panel off to his left, and Iwaizumi's curiosity nearly gets the better of him. To stop himself from doing anything rash, he focuses on the small holographic image of Earth hovering in front of him. "Especially because we're sending you out to the field at such a young age."

This again. Since he was little, Iwaizumi's heard instructors whispering amongst themselves, sneering in his direction as if he can't see the way they glare daggers at him. Some are kinder than others and try to at least be subtle about their disgust. It isn't until he was bumped up two learning levels before the start of his sixth year that someone made the grand decision to diagnose his, for lack of a better word, _problem_.

Medics carted him off and immediately got to work, piercing his skin with a plethora of needles, strapping a strange-looking helmet to his head. They studied him for what felt like months before concluding that the issue wasn't quite as serious as they'd initially thought. Apparently, he learns at an "accelerated pace"- whatever the hell that means- but it's not caused by any sort of disease or disorder so they let him return to business as usual soon after completing the final set of tests.

Which leaves him, a Researcher about twenty human years younger than most, poised and ready to head out on his first field mission.

He hates it when someone brings up his age, as if it's a legitimate reason to hold him back or make a big deal out of his achievements. It's only a number- a species lucky enough to live for centuries should know that all too well. And, more importantly, age among their people isn't a straightforward matter.

Years are based on the annual cycles of various planets, which makes determining someone's "age" quite challenging. Someone may base theirs on the Thyrian cycle, while another bases theirs on the Drypson cycle. Iwaizumi finds it awfully strange (and a bit pathetic) that a society of their caliber and prowess can't even agree on the same age system.

His own age is based on the Earth's revolutions. A few particularly snotty superiors blame his proclaimed genius on that choice, claiming that he wouldn't seem quite as brilliant if he were aged based on what they call the Central Planets, a handful of titan-sized planetary bodies from across the Milky Way galaxy, including the gas giant known as Jupiter.

 _Fucking prudes_. Iwaizumi could care less what they think. Genius, mastermind, prodigy- they're merely titles. Labels are overused and ruin countless reputations. What really matters is his work proficiency, what he achieves, his results and success rate.

Iwaizumi leans forward in his seat and gently prods the tiny model of Earth levitating above Daichi's desk. "You're coming, too?"

"Of course. It's my job."

The phrasing is cold and so very unlike Daichi. "Yes. Yes, of course it is," Iwaizumi bites out. His Mentor rarely refers to his position as his "job." He's always said that it sounds too formal.

"It's one of the safest grounds in the galaxy. Researchers rarely sustain any injuries, and it's been awhile since I've heard of any casualties. They usually return in due time with little to no interferences."

"I can't believe they would want to leave." Iwaizumi slides his finger to the right and watches the miniature Earth turn. "That place is a lot better than this piece of junk."

"You're just getting antsy, Hajime," Daichi scolds lightly. Iwaizumi likes the sound of his terran name on Daichi's lips. Not many of his kind agree to call him by the name, shortening it or changing its arrangement- mostly as a slight to Earth and its people. They've always been bitter toward the blue and green planet and those that wish to study it. "This will be your first time off the ship for an extended period of time. You want to experience the outside world, and I totally understand that. I'll admit, it's quite surreal. But you mustn't forget how astounding and groundbreaking this vessel is. Insulting it is crude and uncalled for."

The question bubbles up to the surface before Iwaizumi can snap his jaw shut. "Why do we hate Earth so much?"

The model ceases its spinning. Daichi tracks the movement with his gaze. His body has been tense this entire time, taut like a string about to snap, and his room smells of antiseptic and cleanser. Iwaizumi imagines that he probably went on one of his infamous cleaning sprees earlier to try and dispel his anxiety. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to have helped.

"Well… I guess they don't tell you everything in class," Daichi finally starts, uncertainty underlying every syllable. His fingers visibly clench, knuckles white. "You know about their pathos-heavy culture, yes?"

Iwaizumi nods. He most certainly does. Every class he's ever taken has mentioned it.

"That's the main reason. As you know, our society doesn't rely on such a thing. Logos, the logic and reason behind every choice and plan of action, is paramount." Again, Daichi sounds like he's reciting lines from a textbook, and Iwaizumi feels a bit uncomfortable. "A civilization that relies on emotional responses and stimuli… it's considered deplorable in the eyes of many."

Leave it to Daichi to pull words like "deplorable" out of his ass. "So basically the human race is seen as a bunch of worthless, emotional basket cases?"

Daichi shrugs. "If you want to think of it that way, yes."

"And are you one of them? Do you think human beings are useless?"

"No," Daichi answers immediately without a second of hesitation. Iwaizumi's a bit taken aback by how sure he sounds. "I don't."

He reaches out and places his palm on the center display. His fingers come together and then stretch out, expanding the formerly small text to about three times its original size. He squints, eyes flitting across the screen as if he's intently reading what's written there. Iwaizumi, of course, knows it's an act, all in an attempt to keep him from asking any additional questions, especially the kind he can't easily answer.

Unable to read the text from this side of the display, Iwaizumi returns his gaze to the holograph and pays no mind to Daichi's evasive behavior. "And love…"

Right on cue, Daichi goes rigid, slowly meeting Iwaizumi's gaze from across the desk. "What?"

"It seems to be the worst," Iwaizumi continues, undeterred by Daichi's steadily widening eyes, "but none of the explanations I've heard seem to make any sense. What the hell is it?"

He's being completely serious. The professors treat the word like a ticking time bomb that could explode in their face at any moment. Most of them skip any lessons dealing with it, complaining extensively about the word's connotations and possible impact on the younger generation. All Iwaizumi knows is that it's a human emotion.

"That's a… that's a tough one, Hajime," Daichi laughs nervously. But instead of apologizing or changing the subject, Iwaizumi simply stares at him, clearly expecting some sort of answer.

"Okay, well, if you really must know, I can at least try to explain." Iwaizumi doesn't miss the emphasis on the word _try_. "The closest thing I can think of- at least in our society- is the bond between a Mentor and their Student."

Iwaizumi blinks owlishly, still uncomprehending. Daichi sighs and shakes his head. "As you know, a child is forbidden from learning the identities of their biological parents, right?"

"…Right?"

"But a young person has to have a role model. Someone who teaches them how to properly live their life, someone who protects and watches over them. And someone to look up to," Daichi finishes with a small smile on his lips.

"So… are you saying… we _love_ each other?" If at all possible, Iwaizumi's more confused than he'd been before getting a response. "What's wrong with that?"

"I said that's the _best_ example I can come up with," Daichi says, "but that doesn't mean there aren't other kinds of love. Human beings are well-versed in such a thing."

"There has to be a shitty kind of love then." Iwaizumi purses his lips. He's thinking out loud, musing about issues that have bothered him for what feels like forever. "A dangerous kind."

Daichi groans once again, but it's more strained this time, pained almost. "Well, I suppose there's a love that could be considered 'dangerous.'"

"Yeah?" Iwaizumi perks up at the mention.

"Dangerous because people die. Humans are willing to put their lives on the line to save someone they 'love.' They will do just about anything to please that other person- their 'significant other.' And want to share their time with them, share their lives with them."

"That sounds just like the other love you described. What's the difference?"

Weariness rolls off of Daichi in waves. It's strange seeing him look so out of place in his own quarters. "There's a big difference. This kind of love usually leads to… well, mating."

 _Mating...?_

It's a lot to take in all at once. Iwaizumi sinks into his chair, brows furrowed. He can't quite wrap his head around Daichi's explanation. He can't possibly imagine why anyone would go to such lengths for someone other than themselves. And why would they ever risk their lives like that? Didn't they fear death? They don't live for long as it is.

And why the hell would love ever lead to _mating_?

Deciding on the first thing that comes to mind, Iwaizumi mutters, a tad disapprovingly, "Love sounds like too much trouble."

* * *

Oikawa snatches his hand away from Iwaizumi's grasp as if he's been burned. "Is this some kind of joke?" he snaps, quickly sitting up.

His chest and head both ache. The cool night air suddenly feels frigid, and the natural grassy smell in the air carries a more noxious odor than before, like rotten vegetables. Oikawa's vision is tinted red. He can't even bring himself to look at Iwaizumi. He climbs to his feet and takes a couple steps away on shaky legs.

 _I'm an alien._

What the hell? Who does that? After going to all this trouble of trying to make Iwaizumi feel more relaxed around him, after inviting Iwaizumi to go "UFO hunting," something only a grand total of two people have ever been asked to do before, the bastard turns it into some sort of cruel, twisted joke.

"Oika-"

"I bet you think this is funny, huh? You get a glimpse of my private life, hear me go on and on about aliens, and think 'hey, wouldn't it be hilarious if I fucked with this guy and told him I was secretly one of those things?'" Oikawa's throat burns from the intensity of his voice. The words tear their way out of his mouth. "Y-you probably thought a nerd like me would be _thrilled_. Well, guess what: I'm not."

The echo of blood pounding through his veins drowns out his surroundings, muffling outside noises. Oikawa wishes it'd block everything so that he wouldn't have to hear the pathetic excuses Iwaizumi has in store for him. But he can just barely make out the supposed alien's pleas and the rustle of his fingers bunching up in the blanket- Oikawa's blanket- as he stands.

"Please, just look at this. I promise I would _never_ do that, no matter how much of an asshole I can be sometimes," he reassures, voice getting closer with every word. "Seriously, here-"

Oikawa contemplates turning and slapping him, but Iwaizumi's phone is being shoved in his face before he can make another move. He has no problem with swatting the cell phone away either. The shattered screen would certainly be satisfying.

But he resists the urge and that's enough time for Iwaizumi to unlock the screen.

Oikawa stares at the damn thing as if he's never seen a cell phone before. There aren't any recognizable apps on the screen except for a tiny blue speech bubble that Oikawa guesses is a messaging app. The labels are in an odd language that Oikawa doesn't recognize. It's not English, that's for sure, and it's too swirly to be Japanese or Russian or anything of the sort. He's at a loss and can only stare at the strange application icons, ranging from a weird green triangle to a little round thing resembling a dial or compass.

Alright. So Iwaizumi has a weird taste in apps. And speaks a language Oikawa isn't familiar with. That doesn't mean anything.

"So?" Oikawa huffs, voicing his skepticism.

"I should've known this wouldn't sway you," Iwaizumi grumbles, pocketing the mobile device. When no other weird objects are thrust into Oikawa's face, he decides that maybe he's just the slightest bit interested. If nothing else, it's amusing to watch Iwaizumi plead his case.

Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Oikawa grudgingly turns to face Iwaizumi who, as expected, is looking around frantically and pacing like a chicken with its head cut off. He stifles his laughter and tries to hide his emerging smile behind his forearm. This isn't a laughing matter, by any means, and Oikawa still wants to smack Iwaizumi upside the head for inventing such a nasty and underhanded joke. But the whole thing is just so out there and unexpected that he can't help but giggle.

"Shit… shit…" Iwaizumi's mumbling to himself like a crazy person, which shouldn't be half as funny as it is. "Well… Is that too much? Fuck… okay… will Daichi kill me if I… well…"

"I'm waiting for my proof, Iwa-chan," Oikawa interjects after watching Iwaizumi make his seventh and hopefully final lap around the blanket. "You're not doing a very good job of convincing me that you're not a complete jerk. Or a nut job."

"No, no!" Iwaizumi rounds on Oikawa and strides toward him. He has the decency to step around Oikawa's blanket instead of walking over it with his dirty shoes, though, and Oikawa can't help but feel his heart flutter at the subconscious display of kindness. "I'm not an asshole! And I'm not crazy! Well, not totally."

Oikawa rolls his eyes. "Then how do I know you're really an alien? Your phone is weird, Iwa-chan, but that doesn't mean much in this day and age."

"I…" Iwaizumi stares at the ground, idly kicking the grass with his scuffed shoes. "I don't want to scare you, but there _is_ one thing I know humans don't have."

Oikawa blanches. "I'm sure you have a lovely physique and everything, Iwa-chan, but getting naked in this weather just so you can show off your kinky alien junk-"

"No!" Iwaizumi shouts, his entire face now redder than a ripe tomato. He holds up his hands and shakes his head vigorously. "There's no way in hell I'd do something like that! I'm talking about"- he comes closer, stopping a foot or so away from Oikawa- "these."

He blinks and at first Oikawa doesn't notice anything different. They're the same dark irises he's witnessed many times before. But Iwaizumi's lashes flutter once more and, just like that, his irises change shape.

One moment, they're circular, a beautiful combination of copper and honey, and the next, they've adopted a diamond-like shape. The irises themselves are a pulsating mass of rich colors, the brown now tinged with flecks of crimson, honey yellow, lavender, and several other unidentifiable hues. It's like staring into the depths of a lake, watching long and elegant eels of varying colors twist and intertwine, moving in and out of Oikawa's line of vision.

There's no other word for it: the sight's breathtaking. It steals the oxygen from Oikawa's lungs and, for a minute or two, he can't seem to regulate his breathing. Oikawa catches the small smirk taking shape on Iwaizumi's lips but his eyes refuse to focus on anything other than the bizarre irises.

"I-Iwa…" he eventually manages to splutter. Those eyes… they're absolutely beautiful and unlike anything Oikawa's ever seen before, more vivid and otherworldly than those of fictional aliens from any of his beloved science fiction films or television shows.

It isn't until Iwaizumi clears his throat that Oikawa realizes he's cupping Iwaizumi's face, gently stroking the soft skin beneath his eyes with the pads of his thumbs, the caress featherlight and gentle. He stills. He doesn't relinquish his hold on Iwaizumi's face, though, caught in the intensity of his stare like a deer caught in a car's headlights.

Iwaizumi slowly exhales, his breath, warm and equally as light as Oikawa's touch, fans out over Oikawa's slightly parted lips and exposed wrists. The air's charged with palpable tension, enough to render both completely immobile.

It isn't that Oikawa hasn't noticed Iwaizumi's attractiveness before. He found his gaze lingering on Iwaizumi on several occasions in the past, back when he had no clue that his newest friend wasn't human, but now that Iwaizumi's offering a glimpse of his extraterrestrial self, Oikawa finds him far more beautiful than any human being he's ever encountered before. And, not to toot his own horn or anything, but he usually attracts some gorgeous specimens of human. To say that Iwaizumi's looks put theirs to shame is saying a lot.

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi whispers, and Oikawa can't tell if he's pleading or warning him to stay away. The tone's weak, barely audible, and Oikawa can't look away. He itches to touch more, explore more _._

Somehow, he finds the willpower to pull away and lower his hands to his sides. He immediately shoves his clenched fingers into his jacket pockets and takes a giant step back. He still feels feverish, even with that much space between he and Iwaizumi, but it doesn't hurt, doesn't make him want to run or escape. Rather, it makes him want to collapse against Iwaizumi and stay there for as long as he'll let him.

"You're… you're not kidding," Oikawa mumbles.

"Like I said, I may be an asshole sometimes, but I wouldn't joke about this," Iwaizumi says. The flush dusting his cheeks is slowly but surely fading away, and Oikawa doesn't know whether to be pleased or disappointed by the development. "That's what I'm trying to tell you."

He should believe Iwaizumi. After the whole impromptu body horror show, he has no reason to doubt him. Oikawa's seen his fair share of colored contacts- even the wilder cosplay ones- but none could transform a person's eyes like _that_. They're absolutely inhuman.

But the idea of an alien Iwaizumi seems too good to be true. To think that the very object of his obsession for the past fourteen or so years could be standing right in front of him, in the body of someone he's been trying his hardest to befriend- it hasn't quite clicked in his brain yet.

"Iwa-chan is an alien."

"Basically, yeah." Iwaizumi's expression is positively mischievous. It looks awfully nice on his face, especially coupled with those ethereal eyes. "Looks like all of your UFO hunting has finally paid off, huh?"

Oikawa can't believe his luck.

He squeals enthusiastically and, in a couple massive strides, closes the space between them, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The excitement won't let him be, won't let him stand still for more than a few seconds at a time. A full-fledged extraterrestrial for him to have conversations with and learn from and interact with and what the hell is his life anymore?

"How… how do you…?"

"Make my eyes look normal? It's all thanks to this chip implanted in my skin. It does a lot of things and camouflage is one of them."

It's like something straight from the pages of one of his favorite science fiction novels. Not in a million years would he have predicted this. He's waited so long to make contact with an alien. _So_ long.

"I can't believe it! This is _amazing_ , Iwa-chan! Just think of all the incredible things you can teach me," Oikawa babbles, staring up at the sky wistfully. Immediately, he's hit with an idea. He lifts his arm and points at the stars overhead. "Which one is closest to your home?"

Iwaizumi chuckles weakly, looking in the direction of Oikawa's trembling pointer finger. "It's hard to pinpoint, honestly. And I don't remember much since I've spent my entire life in space."

"That's so sad," Oikawa gasps, covering his mouth. He mumbles from behind his hands, "I feel so bad for you, Iwa-chan. You're like E.T."

"I'm like _who_?"

"E.T.! He wanted to 'phone home,'" Oikawa explains, making air quotes with his fingers. Then, as if only just remembering one of the movie's biggest plot points, corrects himself in a whiny voice. "But you better not get sick, Iwa-chan! I'm not going through what that sweet little boy had to deal with."

"Right… of course," Iwaizumi concedes, eying Oikawa warily. "Sounds like a plan."

More questions come to mind, all from a list of inquiries Oikawa's kept stowed away in the back of his mind for an occasion just like this. He doesn't plan on giving up anytime soon. "Oh, but that's only if our sicknesses affect you. I'm guessing they do, yeah?"

"Ah, well-"

"Or maybe you can't get sick at all. Maybe your species has evolved past that?"

"Dammit, Oikawa-"

"Such foul language. Where did an alien like you even acquire such a horrid vocabulary, Iwa-chan?"

"I can't answer all of your questions, dumbass Oikawa," Iwaizumi counters with his arms crossed, "There's only so much I'm allowed to share."

 _Whoa_. The comment only serves to make Oikawa more eager, but he decides that Iwaizumi probably has his reasons for remaining so tight-lipped. "This is our little secret, isn't it?" Oikawa asks, quickly adopting his most serious tone.

"Definitely," Iwaizumi intones gravely. "You can't share this with _anyone_. Understand?"

Oikawa likes the sound of that. _Our little secret._ It reminds him of he and Kuroo's secret missions as kids and of his promise to not tell anyone about Kageyama's... well, sexual preferences. He wonders if having a secret- a secret just between he and Iwaizumi- means they're getting closer to becoming actual friends, and he can't help but smile giddily at the thought.

"You're one of the coolest friends I've ever had," Oikawa blurts and feels like a complete fool the second the words leave his mouth.

But the flush returns to Iwaizumi's cheeks as he smiles shyly, flashing Oikawa an expression he's never had the pleasure of receiving from anyone before, not even Kuroo. And, just like that, his concern dissipates because how can he possibly feel like an idiot when Iwaizumi's giving him a look that can only be described as unbearably tender?


	7. 11:47 pm

**Author's Note:** time for more iwaoi and some good old fashioned fluff- 6.5k words of it, to be exact. I mean, I don't have much to say about this chapter. it's pretty straightforward: these boys need to learn how to use their words. to summarise, there are movies, a sleepy oikawa, a scared iwa, and lots of other good stuff! on a side note, the rating should go up pretty soon so look out for that

as always, thank you to my marvelous betas and everyone who continues to read this! you all are the best! now, let's carry on with the story. enjoy!

* * *

Iwaizumi Hajime is the king of grand ideas.

Seriously, it's a problem. Not many _sane_ people would be able to follow his current thought process, and he kind of wants to smack himself in the face for being so rash. After admitting to being an alien to the one person he swore he'd never tell, Iwaizumi somehow got it in his mind that inviting that same person over to his apartment was a good plan.

Yeah, it's crazy. Absolutely nuts. But it's one of probably a thousand ridiculous decisions Iwaizumi's made throughout his life. At this point, he figures he might as well just keep racking them up. Maybe there's some kind of award for the person who makes the most stupid choices in the shortest amount of time. He could give an acceptance speech and everything. "I, terran enthusiast and master of stupidity, Iwaizumi Hajime accept this honor and, in turn, would like to thank Oikawa Tooru for inadvertently convincing me to make more questionable decisions than I could've ever imagined possible. Really, I appreciate it."

Would Daichi laugh or cry? Or both? Iwaizumi knows he'd be doing both.

More than anything in this world and his own, Iwaizumi wants to call this whole thing off. He and Oikawa are sitting on the bus, which, to Iwaizumi's relief, is under the direction of a completely different driver at this hour, someone less imposing and less inclined to randomly shoot him death glares, when the thought suddenly rears its ugly head before he can push it back down. He's still not quite sure what overcame him in that moment, what pushed him to flat out tell Oikawa. It was a mistake, something he can now easily blame on the "heat of the moment," on the twinkle in Oikawa's wide eyes as he peered up at the stars.

How could he say no to a face like that? How could he tear down the only human being possessing an imagination and sense of wonderment on par with himself? Oikawa stares at the sky as if he lovingly created each and every planet and star in existence, as if he sculpted and combined the necessary elements with his own bare hands. His eyes trace their way slowly across the whole expanse of the visible universe and, eventually, settle on Iwaizumi, filled to the brim with the unabashed curiosity he reserves solely for the cosmos. It makes Iwaizumi feel special, to be lumped in with the spectacular planetary bodies and stars that, to this day, spark a flame in his chest just as they did in his youth.

Still, that doesn't excuse Iwaizumi's selfishness. He did it purely to satisfy Oikawa and, indirectly, satisfy his own guilty conscience. Their people have rules, and he had just broken the most important one: revealing his true identity to a Subject. _His_ Subject, at that.

 _Daichi's going to_ kill _me,_ Iwaizumi muses with finality, already having accepted his fate. He glances down at the single black glove in his lap, smoothing his thumb over the soft wooly fabric. _He'll have to tell those pretentious jackasses, and I'll be forced to return to the ship. I doubt they'll let me continue to do research._

Similar thoughts fill his head the entire bus ride back. It figures that when Iwaizumi actually needs Oikawa's enthusiasm and big mouth, he decides to act very out of character. He keeps to himself for most of the trip and says little to nothing. But, out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi catches his shaking knees and fidgeting hands. Oikawa doesn't have many tells. They're easy to miss, and Iwaizumi thanks his keen senses for noticing the subtle jerks and twitches, the shifting of bone beneath skin as his fingers curl and uncurl against his thighs.

That's how Iwaizumi knows Oikawa's really been affected. It isn't often that he lets other people see how he's truly feeling, and, when it comes to expressing emotions in a straightforward manner, Iwaizumi can only count the number of occasions Oikawa's used his words like a mature and responsible adult on one hand. He's a closed book, sealed with a lock and key and, hell, probably layers upon layers of duct tape that would take years to peel off. But Iwaizumi _will_ solve the enigmatic puzzle that is Oikawa Tooru. Even if- especially considering his latest slip up- it's the last thing he does.

They finally pull up to the bus stop outside of Iwaizumi's apartment complex before his thoughts can venture further into dangerous territory. Anxious to get inside and out of the cramped space, Iwaizumi stands and follows closely behind Oikawa who, hopefully, knows where he's going. They climb off along with a group of people who don't look old enough to legally drink but still clearly have drunk a considerable amount in the past couple hours. A tall, gangly guy nearly trips going down the steps, and Iwaizumi can't help but sigh. _This_ must be why Daichi refuses to buy alcohol for the apartment.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are the last off the bus. The temperature seems to have dropped considerably, even since their last time on the hill, and icy wind cuts through their thick jackets as if they're paper thin. Anything other than standard room temperature, a comfortable 290 or so degrees Kelvin, feels strange to Iwaizumi. He's used to being holed up in a space ship all day; it's not as if the onboard atmosphere control system created temperature fluctuations to simulate seasons.

The tipsy group of young men sluggishly stalk off, and, the moment Oikawa's feet touch solid ground, his head whips from one side to the other, eyes squinted. He looks absolutely comical, but Iwaizumi keeps quiet, calmly watching the spectacle unfold. Curious, he clears his throat, wondering how Oikawa will react.

He continues to scan the surrounding area, though, ignoring Iwaizumi's obvious call for attention. After swiveling his head around once more, bouncy hair swaying in the breeze, he stops and deadpans, "Do aliens live in like… weird futuristic apartments?"

 _Ah. Right._

Iwaizumi doesn't know why he still expects Oikawa to ask reasonable questions.

"It's a normal apartment, Asskawa," he chides, trying out a new nickname he'd thought of on the way over. Oikawa's jaw drops, and Iwaizumi silently pats himself on the back for coming up with it. "And what the hell do you mean by futuristic anyway?"

"Like everything is… shiny and electronic," Oikawa manages between breaths as he struggles to catch up. His dress shoes click pleasantly on the pavement. "Oh, wait, I bet you have a robot that does all the housework, right?"

"A… robot?"

"Of course."

Iwaizumi stares blankly at Oikawa.

"I don't even know where you come up with this shit. Is that like a normal thing in those movies and books of yours? Does every alien have a robot handmaid? Or is that just your imagination running wild?"

"I mean, not _always_ , but I'm sure you have the technology to build a robot capable of mundane tasks like cleaning around the apartment," Oikawa huffs almost angrily, as if Iwaizumi's lack of an android house slave personally offends him.

Iwaizumi turns in the direction of his apartment. He needs to get inside soon because this weather _really_ doesn't agree with him. Well, namely the additional hypothalamus mechanism built into his chip, but he chooses not to mention that to Oikawa who will likely interrogate him about why he needs an additional organ anyway.

The sidewalk's end is in sight, and Iwaizumi picks up his pace slightly. From here, he can clearly make out the staircase that's attached to the side of his apartment building. Thankfully, no one seems to be there or they'd be very confused by Oikawa's interest in artificial intelligence and the cleanliness of Iwaizumi's bedroom.

"Maybe you don't need a maid because you and your friend are neat freaks," Oikawa contemplates. "I don't know much about your lovely roommate, but I doknow _you_ pretty well. Iwa-chan doesn't strike me as the overly organized type."

He's already halfway up the stairs and sneaks a glance over his shoulder. "You're one to talk," he shoots back, grinning devilishly when Oikawa nearly loses his footing. "Don't forget that I've seen your room, too, dumbass."

Oikawa's too dumbfounded to offer a clever insult in return. _That's a first_. Not that it's a bad thing. Iwaizumi can only handle a certain number of these weird questions.

Out of habit, Iwaizumi normally tries to block out Oikawa's running mouth. Sometimes he thinks the other talks simply to hear himself speak. Admittedly, Oikawa has the sort of melodic voice that's smooth and professional, perfectly suited to someone with his level of confidence, while also light and teasing. Iwaizumi hates how much he enjoys the incessant chattering. The background noise is strangely soothing.

Just when he's starting to enjoy the quiet, Iwaizumi hears a gasp, a hitch in Oikawa's breathing, and knows there are more questions to come. Probably a mountain of them, too, if Oikawa continues to be his naturally inquisitive (read: nosy) self.

"Oh, Iwa-chan, there are so many things I can't wait to ask you," he starts gushing, just as he'd done at the park. "I'm still trying to get over the fact you're from a different _planet_ and that you spent your life in a _spaceship_ and…"

He carries on undeterred. Apparently he could care less whether Iwaizumi's listening or not. _There he goes again, proving another of my theories_ , Iwaizumi thinks, reflecting back to his earlier realization about Oikawa and his ranting.

Eventually they come to his apartment. Iwaizumi quickly unlocks the door and ushers Oikawa inside. Of course, not even the door is up to Oikawa's standards. "No fingerprint scanner? Or voice recognition lock mechanism? Lame, Iwa-chan," he remarks, shaking his head disappointedly.

Iwaizumi's about to snap at him, maybe address the underlying fact that science fiction is, in fact, _fiction_ , but the words die in his throat. Sitting casually with his shoes propped up on the coffee table is none other than Daichi or, in other words, the last person he wants to see right now.

"Ah, I was beginning to wonder where you were. And you brought a friend over," Daichi comments by way of greeting. He flashes Iwaizumi a look out of the corner of his eye that effectively silences him. "This must be Oikawa-kun."

He's dressed casually but not his usual kind of casual. The navy blue pullover and dark wash, tighter-than-necessary jeans make that abundantly clear. Iwaizumi doesn't have the best sense of fashion- mostly because his people are limited to uniforms- and knows little to nothing about terran fashion, but even he recognizes the outfit for what it is: Daichi has a "date."

What the hell is a "date" anyway? He's overheard countless conversations around campus, but the term's meaning still eludes him. From what he's gathered, it has something to do with two people meeting in a non-platonic way. But that makes no sense in this situation because… Daichi's not interested in a relationship like that. Actually, he's not technically _allowed_ to have that sort of relationship, especially with a human being.

Iwaizumi's head hurts. _Why do terran customs have to be so damned confusing?_

"Nice to meet you, sir," Oikawa greets politely, adopting the tone he uses when speaking to his seniors and superiors. He then seals the deal with one of his thousand watt smiles, eyes glittering, and Iwaizumi wonders if Daichi's buying his act. While most people seem to accept Oikawa's effortlessly casual and carefree façade at face value, Iwaizumi sees right through it, sees it for the humongous lie that it is.

"Nice to meet you, too, Oikawa-kun." Daichi nods his acknowledgment and stands, approaching the doorway. Iwaizumi stiffens, feeling as if his entire being is rooted to that particular spot. At his side, Oikawa doesn't seem bothered, but, knowing him, he's probably thinking of all the outrageous things he wishes he could ask Daichi concerning space travel and robots and who knows what else. He's too scared to find out.

Daichi stops right in front of Iwaizumi and, carefully, sets a heavy hand on his shoulder. Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to sink through the floor and disappear. "Well, I'll be heading out. I left the stir fry out for you so just make sure you clean the dishes afterwards. Oh, and there should be enough for your friend, too."

 _So I was right after all. He_ is _going out._

"Where are you going?" Iwaizumi asks, an unspoken "at this hour" implied in the furrow of his brow.

They lock eyes and, for a moment, Iwaizumi wonders if Daichi can see through his lies the way he sees through Oikawa's. He wonders if he can smell the betrayal on his clothes or can hear the litany of "Iwa-chan is an alien!" that's likely running on a loop inside Oikawa's head. But nothing significant happens. Iwaizumi doesn't catch on fire, and, from what he can tell, Oikawa seems unscathed.

Instead, Daichi's lips stretch into a smile, and he explains his plans quickly as if he's in a rush. "Sugawara and I are going bowling. But don't worry. I'll be back by tomorrow morning."

There's a glint in Dacihi's eyes, though, that sets Iwaizumi on edge and practically screams that there's more to his brief explanation. A meaning that Oikawa's certainly not allowed to know about. The silent communication isn't anything new, and the two of them make use of the skill often. They used it several times in the past when Iwaizumi's professors came to Daichi's quarters to complain, when Supervisors got too nosy about the research they did in their spare time and decided they needed to brief both on their fields of study.

Iwaizumi can't turn a blind eye to Daichi's unspoken request. "Actually, I might need your help in the kitchen before you-"

"You'll be fine, Hajime." Daichi cuts Iwaizumi short without batting an eye. Leveling a strange and indecipherable look in his Student's direction, he tightens his hold a bit before drawing his hand away. Iwaizumi's shoulder burns where Daichi's fingers had previously rested. He tries and thankfully succeeds to cover up the resulting wince from the contact.

 _Yeah, I'm dead,_ Iwaizumi decides.

Daichi turns to Oikawa then, and his face transforms. The happiness reflected in his smile appears genuine, and the dangerous twinkle vanishes from his eyes. He looks the part of the conscientious roommate once again. "It was very nice meeting you, Oikawa-kun."

"Ah, well, the pleasure is all mine, Sawamura-san," Oikawa chirps, a little too enthusiastically. "I hope that you have a fantastic time this evening with your friend."

Iwaizumi wants to stop that damn mouth from moving before Oikawa embarrasses the hell out of both of them, but Daichi chuckles good-naturedly and steps through the doorway.

"I appreciate your kindness. Same to you, Oikawa-kun," he says, lips still quirked up at the edges. But he glances at Iwaizumi, and the faint difference in his tone sends an unpleasant shiver down the other's spine. "And you, too, Hajime. Have fun."

The word "fun" sounds bitter on his tongue, and Iwaizumi hopes he's the only one who catches the ominous undertone. To his relief, Oikawa saves him with a charming, "We most certainly will. See you later, Sawamura-san."

Daichi waves and pulls the door shut behind him as he heads out into the night. The lock clicks into place, and both Oikawa and Iwaizumi are left staring at the door. Although Oikawa remains clueless to what really transgressed just now, Iwaizumi knows full well that Daichi somehow detected his guilt.

And, for the first time in his mostly emotionless life, Iwaizumi Hajime's genuinely afraid.

* * *

Oikawa narrows his eyes, glaring down the television.

It looks normal enough, but he won't take any chances. For all he knows, the remote on the table may have a button that transforms the display into a three-dimensional projection. Or maybe has a direct connection to the mothership… now _that's_ an interesting thought.

He wonders what other hidden treasures could be found within the walls of this seemingly harmless apartment. From his spot on the couch, he can see both residents' bedrooms as well as the bathroom and small dining space at his back. It's fairly simplistic with furniture that likely came with the lease. He hasn't quite determined whether the several landscape paintings and tapestries adorning the walls were also included, but he can't imagine the complex's decorators shelling out the money for all of them, especially the largest one that hangs on the wall opposite the television.

His next question: are they Iwaizumi's or Daichi's? For some reason, he can't possibly see them belonging to Iwaizumi. _He's too… well,_ Iwaizumi _to care whether something's pretty or nice to look at_. Oikawa laughs softly to himself.

Propping his arm along the back of the couch, Oikawa stretches his neck to peer into the tiny kitchen, curious as to whether they're eating there or at the breakfast bar. Iwaizumi's standing in front of the stove, the strong plane of his back facing Oikawa. He serves stir fry on to two separate plates and then hesitates.

 _Odd…_

Oikawa watches closely for more, but Iwaizumi turns and quickly makes his way to the living room without further interruption. His shoulders seem tense, though, and his usual stride looks a bit stilted, as if the wind's been taken out of his sails. He's not an especially chipper person, but Oikawa can tell something's wrong.

He slumps onto the cushion beside Oikawa and sets down both plates. Amazingly enough, he also managed to tuck the silverware under each plate so as to avoid a second trip. For some reason, it doesn't surprise Oikawa. _Silly Iwa-chan._

Worried about what he'd just witnessed, Oikawa opens his mouth, ready to resume his interrogation when-

The delicious aroma wafting up from the food roughly shoves Oikawa's anxiety back for the time being. He can smell the cooked broccoli and peppers and can practically taste the salty tang of soy sauce on his tongue. Exercising every ounce of self-control he has left, he slowly picks up his fork instead of digging in like he wants to. _I never knew aliens could make such good chefs._ He hopes Iwaizumi's cooking is just as delectable.

"Dig in," Iwaizumi urges, waving at Oikawa's plate with his fork. "The faster you eat, the faster we can get to the important stuff."

Oikawa almost drops his silverware. Would he divulge more secrets? "What 'important stuff?'"

"I don't know about you, but I've neglected my calculus homework for the past couple days. Tonight's basically the only chance I have left to get it done before another professor shoves more homework down my throat," Iwaizumi comments drily, spearing a green pepper with his fork tongs.

He's always had his suspicions about Iwaizumi, but now Oikawa knows for sure that he's a lot nerdier than he lets on. Even with a friend over, he wants to do school work. They're college students now so assignments pile up a lot quicker, but Oikawa can't believe it's the first thing on Iwaizumi's mind when his _incredible_ best friend's paying a visit. Oikawa usually just stays awake late into the night and works on homework while his friends sleep. Not that he and Kageyama invite many people over. Other than the usual suspects (Kuroo, Bokuto, and Hinata), only Yaku has been asked to spend the evening there before.

"Homework, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa pops a piece of chicken into his mouth and mumbles as he chews, "I should've known you'd turn out to be an even bigger nerd than me."

"Hey, wait a-"

"But your species must be more advanced than ours to come up with those chips. Under your skin, right?"

Iwaizumi snakes his fingers beneath the sleeve of his shirt and lightly rubs a darker patch of skin that could easily be mistaken for a mole or birthmark. "Right here. They implant it almost immediately after we're born."

"Interesting… and they do more than just camouflage your body?"

"A _lot_ more," Iwaizumi echoes back. But his lips curve into a frown. "They perform many different tasks at once, but that's about all I can say about them."

"Synthetic, lightweight, performs various functions simultaneously… Are you geniuses? Is Iwa-chan secretly an alien mastermind hoping to take over the world?"

"Trust me, world domination isn't our goal," Iwaizumi scoffs. "Especially when it comes to Earth. A lot of my kind resents humans and this planet in general so the last thing they'd want to do is set up shop here."

That makes no sense. "Resent us? Why?"

"It's a long story. Suffice to say that we have different priorities and a lot of big shots envy how carefree the human race seems." Iwaizumi picks out another green pepper, and, distantly, Oikawa wonders if they're his favorite food. "Anyway, I guess you could say we're pretty advanced. But no, I'm not like the freaky mad scientists from your weird ass books."

 _What does he think I read? I have far better taste in literature than_ that.

"So are you super smart? For your kind, I mean."

Iwaizumi sets his fork on his plate and scratches at the back of his neck. "Kind of. I just learn at a faster rate than most."

Oikawa almost chokes on the onion he's munching. He says it so nonchalantly, as if being superior minded in an already superior minded civilization isn't a big deal at all. Oikawa works hard on a daily basis to make decent grades, and, although he's fairly smart himself, that doesn't mean he could hold a candle to an extraterrestrial capable of learning an entire species' customs and lifestyle habits in a matter of a years.

"I feel like you're more of a genius than you think, Iwa-chan."

"And what gives you that idea?"

Oikawa honestly has no idea and says so. Instinct? A gut feeling? Most of his feelings regarding Iwaizumi are just that- gut feelings.

"Maybe we shouldn't work on calculus after all," Iwaizumi sighs, moving his half-finished dinner to the table. "There's no way I can deal with you gushing over me for the rest of the night. I'll go crazy."

"Not a fan of compliments, huh?" Oikawa still has most of his stir fry left but feels weird eating when Iwaizumi's already finished. He sets the plate next to his host's.

"Any suggestions about what we should do?"

"Ah, changing the subject. I see, Iwa-chan," Oikawa coos, "You really _are_ a genius."

They go back and forth like this for a bit longer before Oikawa eventually concedes that, yes, he does have a suggestion. The tote he'd brought along for the UFO hunt earlier sits alongside the couch, and Oikawa reaches over to sneak his hand under the giant navy blanket. He first withdraws his overnight clothes and, ignoring Iwaizumi's startled protests, darts into the bathroom.

He quickly pulls his shirt over his head and shimmies his pants down until he can step out of them. The shirt and lounge pants he brought are lighter, looser, and leave Oikawa feeling more at ease. He checks his reflection, specifically the state of his hair, and tries to smooth the wrinkles in his t-shirt. _Why does it matter what I look like? It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone._ Denial snorts derisively from its place in the very back of Oikawa's mind.

Oikawa slips back into the living room with his original outfit tucked under his arm. Iwaizumi looks suspicious, maybe a tad scared, but doesn't say a word. Oikawa excitedly wriggles back onto the couch and stretches his body across the side, digging around inside the giant tote again for a couple minutes before his fingers brush the plastic DVD case at the bottom.

Before heading out, Oikawa spent about an hour arguing with himself about what to bring. Kageyama wasn't much of a help either, lying in Oikawa's bed, completely immersed in the latest issue of _Inside Volleyball_. The blanket, though, was a must. It was _the_ blanket, the one that, even as a child, he'd brought along when he scurried down the street on a clear night, hoping to catch a glimpse of an actual spacecraft. The fraying edges and assortment of moth balls are the best indicators of its years of service.

He'd shoved it into his bag without a second thought. But whether to bring more still posed an issue. Finally, after snapping at Kageyama to lay in his own bed if he didn't plan on offering input, he decided on three DVD's: _Alien_ , the first _Men in Black_ , and _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_.

Now he's absolutely thrilled he brought the movies along. Deep down, he worried that it would be his last night with Iwaizumi and wanted to make the most of it. He'd never, not even in his wildest dreams, thought Iwaizumi would be an _alien_ or that he'd invite him to spend the night.

"Ta-da!" Oikawa withdraws the _Alien_ DVD case with a flourish. Ignoring Iwaizumi's audible gulp, he slides closer and taps the egg oozing green goo on the cover. "How about we watch this first?"

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, which, to Oikawa's disappointment, are back to being hidden behind some sort of biological camouflage. "Alien...?"

" _Alien_ ," Oikawa confirms, waving the case around.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, Iwa-chan, it'll be funny." He taps his chin thoughtfully with the plastic case, covering his smirk. "I mean, a sweet little alien watching a movie about another bigger and scarier alien that likes ripping people's faces off? Should be a good laugh."

"You sure have a twisted sense of humor. Who laughs at someone getting torn to shreds by a- Wait, 'sweet little alien'? Who the hell are you calling _sweet_ and _little_? "

"Compared to this guy, you're pretty tiny," Oikawa explains with a shrug. He moves the DVD just in time to avoid Iwaizumi's swinging arm. "And I don't imagine that you make a habit of killing people. Unless of course you do… then we may need to have a talk about how this whole 'friendship' thing is going to play out. I'd rather _not_ go to jail, thank you very much."

The food long forgotten, Oikawa notices that there's barely a foot of space between he and Iwaizumi. To try and physically force the movie's content into Iwaizumi's brain, he had slid closer and hadn't even noticed the way his hand naturally came to rest on Iwaizumi's jean clad thigh. His fingers tighten reflexively, liking the feel of denim and muscle that twitches beneath his touch.

Oikawa inhales and, everywhere, _everywhere_ , there's Iwaizumi. The lingering scent of detergent and aftershave, the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his chest- Oikawa can't escape it no matter where he lets his eyes rest or where he focuses his attention.

Slowly, he lifts his head to gauge Iwaizumi's reaction. And he doesn't seem to be faring any better.

For a brief moment, Oikawa imagines what it would feel like to slip his hands under Iwaizumi's shirt, how it would feel to softly press kisses to his jawline, to his neck and down to his collarbone. Iwaizumi would shudder and whisper Oikawa's name, utterly confused but wanting more. Then Oikawa would finally kiss Iwaizumi fully, would push and _push_ until there's no space between them, until their bodies melded together with legs intertwined, breathing in each other's air, tasting each other…

 _You can't_ , Oikawa reminds himself. _You absolutely_ can't _do this to yourself. Or to Iwaizumi._ He hates that side of his brain, the logical side that never fails to rain on his parade. Grudgingly, he leans back the slightest bit. He's not sure whether he's imagining it or not, but Iwaizumi's face seems to fall.

Almost like he's upset.

"So, the movie?" Oikawa's voice cracks and, fuck, he wishes he could put an end to this whole personal space issue they have.

"Yeah… yeah, sure." There's a slight break in Iwaizumi's voice, too. It makes Oikawa feel a little better but only a little. "We can watch that, I guess."

Before he can embarrass himself any more than he already has, Oikawa scrambles off the couch with the DVD in hand. His legs aren't half as shaky as his hands, and he manages to load the disc player _and_ make it back to the couch without dropping the case or, worse, falling headlong into the table.

Tucking his feet under his body, he crawls back into his spot by Iwaizumi's side. All of the blood seems to have rushed to his head, and he can barely keep his thoughts straight, can feel them darting frantically around his skull. The sensation is insufferable and far worse than it's ever been with any of the numerous girls he's been involved with in the past. He knows he's blushing. Iwaizumi could probably reach out and wrap his hands around Oikawa's embarrassment, as if it's some tangible creature snaking around their seated figures, wrapping itself around their limbs like a snake. And, after sneaking a glance over at Iwaizumi, he finds that he isn't the only flustered one in the room.

 _What the hell was that?_ Oikawa blinks, zeroing in on the television screen as the trailers play. _This is getting to be annoying. If I don't stop this now, I'll end up doing something stupid like… well, something that will likely scare Iwaizumi away for good. Maybe if I just get it over with and kiss him, I would know for sure that I'm not interested…_

Oh no. No, no, _no_. He needs to forget that outlandish idea, and he needs to forget about it fast.

Thankfully, the movie starts and silences the maelstrom in Oikawa's head. It's hard to think about potentially kissing your newest friend when people onscreen are screaming in terror.

He's seen the movie enough to quote most scenes line by line. After about the fifth time, he stopped squealing and squirming during the most suspenseful parts. They were certainly well done, but he mainly watched the film for pure enjoyment at this point. Back when Kuroo and a few other neighborhood boys reluctantly agreed to join him for a biweekly "movie night" in elementary school, the entire film had Oikawa on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the screen. At that age, Oikawa had only just begun his journey into the science fiction genre. To this day, _Alien_ remains his first and, quite possibly, favorite alien movie.

Iwaizumi's surprisingly quiet. The parts that scared Oikawa in the past don't seem to faze him, and, whenever the Alien appears, he snorts softly under his breath. He comments here and there, pointing out little nuances and scientific impossibilities. Oikawa bristles with pride when Iwaizumi mentions mistakes he already picked out in recent viewings. Some, though, he admits are new, and his theory about Iwaizumi the Closet Genius resurfaces.

Advanced species or not, Oikawa suspects that Iwaizumi's intelligence surpasses most of his kind. It's a hunch, at best, but the feeling is another gut instinct he can't seem to shake.

 _Not only did I find an alien- I found a special one._

Halfway through the movie, right after Oikawa quotes yet another section of dialogue, Iwaizumi breathes, "How many times have you watched this?"

The sudden question makes Oikawa jump for the first time since the film started. "Huh?"

"You seem to know it pretty well. So I was curious," Iwaizumi explains, shifting slightly in his seat. Normally, Oikawa would chalk it up to Iwaizumi getting him back for his earlier smart ass comments. But there's nothing harsh about his tone and, when Oikawa turns to check his expression, the barely there smile and softness of his gaze confirm his suspicions. Iwaizumi's genuinely curious.

"None of your business," Oikawa grumbles because he needs to break the tension that's settled over them. It's not uncomfortable. Actually, it's far worse. The mood's _too_ comfortable and dangerously close to the feeling that had overcome Oikawa on the hill a couple hours ago, the feeling that had crept under his skin when he'd accidentally crowded against Iwaizumi on the couch.

"More than once."

"Hey, don't say that like you know for sure, Iwa-chan!"

"Oh, but I do."

"You wish!" Oikawa huffs and looks back toward the movie. _Stupid alien and his stupid face and stupid brain._

Ten or so minutes pass before Oikawa feels himself drifting off. The screen begins to blur around the edges, and the actors' voices sound distant, like they're stuck at the far end of a tunnel, shouting and hoping that Oikawa can hear their pleas. His eyelids feel heavy, and he knows he'll be asleep soon. But Iwaizumi seems fine.

"How about _Men in Black_ next?" He doesn't want Iwaizumi to know just how tired he really is.

"Okay," Iwaziumi agrees, a small laugh slipping past his lips.

And that's the last thing Oikawa remembers before everything goes dark, body cushioned by something firm and warm as sleep overcomes him.

* * *

 _Thump_.

Startled, Iwaizumi turns his head only to find Oikawa slumped against his shoulder. He sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. Oikawa's the one who had such big plans for the evening to begin with, and he's already passed out? Only seconds ago, they'd been discussing their movie schedule for the remainder of the night. The drowsiness in Oikawa's voice now made a lot more sense.

 _I can't believe this_. Iwaizumi glances at the digital clock perched on the little side table. The boxy numbers and letters "11:47 PM" glare back at him as if they're mocking the irony of this situation. His life is apparently a gigantic cosmic joke. The person who's all gung-ho to watch science fiction films is fast asleep, while the subject of basically every movie belonging to said person is wide awake.

There isn't any point to keep going now that Oikawa won't be able to join him. Iwaizumi cracks his neck and readies himself to stand. He'll take the DVD out and pack the rest of the cases back into Oikawa's monster of a tote bag. That way, he won't have to deal with Sleeping Beauty's bitching the next morning.

But…

Has Oikawa's hair always smelled so good? The faint aroma of apples seems ingrained in every soft strand of hair that tickles the underside of Iwaizumi's jaw, and Iwaizumi has to fight back the urge to lean a bit closer, to bury his face in the thick mass of chestnut hair, and inhale. It's intoxicating. He's familiar with the odor, and, since it's likely artificial, he knows all too well that it shouldn't smell as incredible as it does.

As if that's not bad enough, the angle of his face gives Iwaizumi a clear view of Oikawa's fluttering lashes and closed eyelids, of the slope of his nose, of the gentle swell of his lips, of the jut of his chin and powerful jawline. He's the very image of tranquility and peaceful slumber. Pictures from his textbook didn't do the real thing justice, the human face, concrete and less than an arm's length away, as the REM cycle slowly kicks in.

 _Where did all of that energy go? That cocky attitude?_ Iwaizumi laughs quietly to himself. In all honestly, he likes that Oikawa's far from perfect. No one's meant to be "perfect." As a matter of fact, Iwaizumi's gone from tolerating Oikawa's imperfections to, well, embracing them. They suit him, and Iwaizumi can't imagine him being any other way.

Still, the silence is a pleasant change, and the opportunity to just sit and, without interruption, admire Oikawa's features is certainly nice. He would never tell Oikawa this- for fear the jerk's head may actually explode if his ego grew any more- but, as humans go, as all extraterrestrial species known to Iwaizumi's species go, he really is beautiful.

 _Inside and out_ , Iwaizumi thinks and, unable to resist the urge any longer, raises his hand to lightly brush his knuckles across Oikawa's forehead, pushing a few wayward pieces of hair to the side. Thankfully, he doesn't stir. But he does mumble something about "robots" and, oddly enough, "chicken" that forces another small chuckle from Iwaizumi's parted lips.

Up until now, Iwaizumi's forgotten that Oikawa changed clothes before the movie started. The ratty-looking gray shirt has a grainy photo screened on the front, a tiny aircraft of sorts levitating above the trees along with the words "I WANT TO BELIEVE." His sweatpants have little bulbous alien heads similar to the ones adorning his bed sheets, and they also look worn from years of use.

 _Fuck_.

This is incredibly risky. Even more risky than he'd originally surmised the first time he saw Oikawa.

 _I just have to go grab a blanket and get my ass to bed._ The longer he stays on this couch, pondering over and studying Oikawa, the more he runs the risk of lying down and staying with him for the rest of the night. Which could be a potentially horrible decision on his part.

He's strong; he can handle one measly human.

 _He's not just any human_.

A human is a human. Letting himself get too attached is completely out of the question.

 _You're already too attached. Too late to fix that._

Wow. He needs to get rid of the inner Daichi crammed inside his brain. The imaginary bastard annoys Iwaizumi almost as much as Oikawa does.

Eventually Iwaizumi talks himself into moving from his spot on the couch. He manages to shift Oikawa on to his back without disrupting his sleep. He heads to Daichi's room and retrieves the spare blanket they keep stowed in his closet. Carefully, he places it over Oikawa and, realizing that the poor human's neck will be incredibly sore in the morning based on his current position, sneaks one of the cushions from another chair under Oikawa's head.

To his relief, Oikawa's a heavy sleeper. He remains motionless throughout the whole rearrangement. Once or twice, his eyelids twitch and, right after Iwaizumi pushes the seat cushion into place, he mutters about robots again.

 _Idiot._

Iwaizumi is satisfied with his work and decides that he really, _really_ , needs to go to sleep. He's a couple steps from his bedroom door when the soft whine stops him in his tracks.

"Nnn…"

Confused, he glances over his shoulder in the direction of the couch and slumbering houseguest. Nothing seems out of place. Oikawa's probably dreaming about androids and stir fry; Iwaizumi's just overreacting. Content, he scoffs at Oikawa's crazy imagination and turns around.

"Iw… Iwa…"

Time seems to freeze. Iwaizumi's feet refuse to move.

"Iwa… chan… Iwa-chan…"

Oikawa practically whimpers the last part, and Iwaizumi forgets how to breathe.

Without a second thought, terrified and rattled to the core, Iwaizumi dashes into his room and buries his face in the nearest pillow.

 _Fuck._

* * *

 **A/N:** come bother me on twit or tumblr: tobiologist


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